It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger.
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