Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying.
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