“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived. Take me with you. I’ll drive you home once my buzz goes away. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.
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