"It is Dunbarton's," he murmured.

Then, with some show of heat, "Ah, pardieu!" he cried.

"But it was a dirty t'ing t'is Monmoot' 'ave prepare'.

It is murder; it is not t'e war.
"And yet," said Wilding critically, "it is a little more like war than the Bridgwater affair to which your lordship gave your sanction." Feversham pursed his lips and considered the speaker.

Wentworth reentered, followed by the Earl's valet carrying an armful of garments.
His lordship threw off his dressing-gown and stood forth in shirt and breeches.
"Mais dpche-toi, donc, Belmont!" said he.