‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. You can’t go. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. "Perhaps. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. "Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune.
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