"Not a syllable," replied Wild. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. "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. Then he paused.
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