I'm hungry. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. Nice, of course. "What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. I shall have to discover one suitable. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs.
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