A PASSAGE OF ARMS.
Mademoiselle Algae Brunelle was not on a bed of roses, and her growing
impatience took the form of tartness. If Clovis could have looked on
his affinity in his absence her prospects of becoming some day
Marquise de Gange might have been less promising. In truth, she was
very cross, and took no trouble to conceal her mood from Pharamond or
Phebus. It was not her fault, but that of the silly Bertrand, that the
cakes should have had a metallic flavour. She therefore soundly rated
that worthy for his clumsiness, and threatened him with pains and
penalties. The chef glanced at her with two pig's-eyes set close
together, and replied, "I was engaged in Paris by Monsieur l'Abbe, not
by mademoiselle, who should undertake her dirty work herself." He had
no personal feeling against the recluse upstairs, but man must live,
and with the present he was to receive he intended to escape from the
French caldron, and make up for a trifling lapsus in another land by a
future of exemplary virtue.
Energetic mademoiselle was all for taking the bull by the horns and
acting with decision. Why beat about the bush in this provoking way,
she argued, since the chatelaine was completely in their power? The
domestics were the abbe's creatures, drafted one by one, and dropped
each into his place. Madame de Vaux and Angelique were too much
alarmed to leave their own precincts; and now that the marquis was
gone, the old gentleman had no motive for ambling over from Montbazon,
since he had never understood Gabrielle, and instinctively disliked
the brothers. He was grateful to Algae in that matter of the sciatic
nerve, but it was not his place as a seigneur to make morning calls on
a dependant. To prevent prying from without, it was easy to spread a
report that Madame la Marquise de Gange had been attacked by typhus
fever. The rustics of Touraine had a wholesome dread of the disease.
Madame had none on whom she could rely except her faithful abigail.
Would it not be the most natural thing in the world if the devoted
foster-sister were likewise to succumb to the malady? There was
nothing whatever to stop the prosecution of their plans, and it has
long been an axiom that what has to be done is best done quickly.
There was nothing to cause the delay but the abbe's tortuous method.
It is said that each of us has been an animal in a previous phase, and
that a shade of likeness, physical or moral, or both, yet clings to us
in this. Mademoiselle was convinced that in his last existence the
abbe had been a serpent. It was his nature to wriggle and twist, and
he could not for the life of him move straight. If he beheld a dove
upon a branch he must needs coil himself elaborately to fascinate it,
instead of protruding a tongue and gobbling it up at once.
These and other views, did she propound to Pharamond, marching up and
down the room as her wont was, when much in earnest, with elephantine
tread, while the chevalier blinked at her in fear. A wonderful woman,
an awful and terrible woman! It was not surprising that Clovis should
have sunk under her thrall. She dared to beard, and even flout the
still more awful Pharamond, and the two crossed swords sometimes with
such a clash of arms that Phebus shivered in alarm. What two such
strong ones willed, would certainly take place. No doubt about it. The
poor thing upstairs was doomed. No effort that he, Phebus, could make,
might stay her doom. Why, then, make any effort? He could only shed
maudlin tears and wish her well through her misery. He quite agreed
with Algae, that the inevitable should take place at once.
Now lecturing and advice that looked too like command, was by no means
palatable to Pharamond, and he had much ado to maintain the suavity of
his temper. The idea of typhus was not bad, but it would entail
certain consequences. Nearly everybody at this time, both in France
and England, was seamed with smallpox, and dreadful as the scourge
was, familiarity had paled its terrors. The report of a spread of
typhus, on the other hand, was enough to depopulate a district.
Happily, since the period which occupies us, advancing science has
done much to mitigate its horrors, but in the eighteenth century, the
sickening details of its course were enough to appal the bravest. The
Marquise de Gange and her abigail having succumbed to the scourge, the
inmates of the chateau must flee, or endure ostracism--they would be
banned like lepers.
Though by the terms of the new will, the marquis would quietly
inherit, it would not do for him and his brothers, after assisting at
a typhus deathbed, to stay at Blois to transact necessary business.
Unluckily the unstable legatee could not be trusted to do much
unaided. As had been decided he was to raise money on his
expectations, sufficient to waft the party to Geneva, and keep them in
proper style during tedious but necessary negociations. It was
obvious, therefore, that mademoiselle's impatience was vexatious and
ill-advised. When Clovis wrote to say that the sum was raised, then
they would perform their one act drama, and, bowing, retire behind the
scenes.
"Surely there ought to be no difficulty about raising the necessary
sum," grumbled Algae, with arms crossed, and moody brow. "Clovis is so
reprehensibly tardy. What can he be doing all this while! I would have
settled the matter myself in half-an-hour, if the mission could have
been confided to me."
Phebus blinked more than usual. Oh! A wonderful woman, who appeared to
him as a vision of fate in a violent hurry. Could she who had been
sprightly and kittenish, be so athirst for another woman's blood?
"You deem yourself vastly clever," sneered Pharamond, waxing wroth.
"Can you not remember that every mistake has been due to your
stupidity? Half-an-hour, forsooth! Do you not know that bullion is as
rare a commodity as diamonds? that to refuse payment in assignats is
to risk the guillotine, and that beyond the border, such things are
but dirty paper? A pretty figure we should cut if we rattled into the
courtyard of the Etoile d'Or, and attempted to pay the Swiss
postilions with dead leaves! One cannot, of course, expect common
sense from a woman, any more than grapes from thistles. Your querulous
importunity is wearying. You must keep your promise and be content to
be led by me."
Even Pharamond was disconcerted, and Phebus cowered, when Algae dashed
into the breakfast-room one day like a whirlwind, her eyes aflame, her
dusky visage black with fury. She moved swiftly up and down, unable to
articulate, upsetting the chairs in her career. What could have
happened to enrage her thus? Verily, she was becoming a deplorable,
insufferable nuisance, and it would be well to make an end of it.
"Patience," she blurted out at last, thumping into her accustomed
seat, and scattering the glasses. "You never weary of exhorting me to
patience. Perhaps you will yourself remember the elementary fact that
events will not stand still while you are parleying."
"What now?" Pharamond asked calmly.
"This now," retorted mademoiselle. "The Marechale de Breze has just
arrived with an army of domestics, and is closeted upstairs with her
daughter."
This was news; unwelcome and unexpected news. Had the old lady arrived
on an errand similar to that of the family solicitor? Hardly. If
Gabrielle had again secretly sought protection, M. Galland would have
come himself. And an army of servants, too! Servants are argus-eyed
and uncharitable in their conclusions. These people could not be
wheedled or cajoled like those selected by the abbe. Algae's wrath,
though coarsely expressed, was justified. The irruption of a foreign
element, just at this juncture, was unfortunate.
"We must frighten them away," Pharamond observed, quietly peeling a
pear.
Mademoiselle snorted in scorn, while the abbe sat wrapped in thought.
Why was the marechale here now? Had anything fresh occurred in Paris,
which had impelled flight? If that had been so, she would not have
travelled with a retinue. She was timid and nervous, and fearful of
bandits on the road. She could scarcely have been summoned by
Gabrielle, since the latter had no suspicion of the cakes. Pharamond
had satisfied himself of that, by knocking humbly and inserting a
head, while ostentatiously remaining on the threshold. "Pardon my
intrusion," he had meekly purred, "but anxiety compels me to ask after
your health. In Clovis's absence I feel responsible. Tell me that you
have recovered, as I have, from the untoward incident due to a stupid
cook?"
Gabrielle politely declared herself to be well, deplored the abbe's
illness, and intimated with a slight inclination that the interview
was over. Chilly, not to say icy. But there was no symptom of
suspicion in her clear blue eyes. She declined to say more than was
necessary to a man whom she detested, that was all. But Toinon, the
abbe was convinced, knew all about it. Why had she kept her knowledge
from her mistress? What had she done with the parcel? She had allowed
him clearly to understand, that she was not taken in by his comedy.
Did she not always make a parade, to the scandal of the household, of
having every article tasted that was to be consumed by her mistress or
herself?
He had seen her wrap up the cakes which the dog had not devoured--to
what end? It would be well to have those cakes and to destroy them;
was it worth the trouble of finding and purloining them? It had been
generally admitted that through carelessness there had been an
accident which was not followed by a fatal result. In every household
such accidents occur since the culinary genius is not infallible. Were
the things to be analysed, it might transpire that the quantity of
verdigris or subacetate on the copper plate had been excessive, so
great as to look like deliberate purpose. Did Toinon propose to open a
judicial inquiry under the presidency of Madame La Marechale; produce
her _pieces de conviction_; accuse a respectable ghostly man of
attempted murder? The idea was so ludicrous that Pharamond laughed
aloud. Let her do as she liked. Bother the cakes! The inquiry would be
very funny. He quite hoped that she would ventilate her suspicions for
the amusement of the assembled household, and give him the chance of
victory.
It behoved a son of the Church, brought up in a good school, to pay
due and ceremonious respect to the mother of their chatelaine. He
accordingly indited a sweet note expressive of joyous surprise, and
requesting the honour of an interview.
Gabrielle was about to seize the note and tear it into fragments, but
the hand impulsively raised fell by her side, and the words she would
have spoken died upon her lips. Why worry the venerable dame with her
own peck of troubles? She had gone through such paroxysms of terror on
the journey that she was still all of a twitter. "You've not the
smallest idea! My pet--" she began in her high treble, "what the
villages and towns were like. Where such crowds of forbidding
tatterdemalions could have sprung from I cannot understand. And when
they saw my coach and armed servants, they pursued us with yells and
stones, actually flints! A sharp one nearly struck me in the face. I
was so indignant that I felt inclined to stop and say, 'You curs! Do
you know I am the widow of one who spilt his best blood for his
country and his king?' but now I am rather glad I did not."
"Dearest mother!" the marquise murmured, clasping the old lady to her
bosom, "I am so glad you did not! Alas! even to name our martyr king
is to rouse a volley of curses."
And then the old lady, enchanted to have found a listener who would
not interrupt her flow, gabbled on interminably about the condition of
the capital. Before daring to decide on a journey she had called in
good M. Galland who, contrary to her own views, had considered it an
admirable suggestion that the mother should visit the daughter. "If I
had known all, wild horses would not have moved me. The threatening
attitude of your rustics is more menacing than our mob at home." She
failed to add that as she rarely stepped outside the door, she knew
but little of the Paris rabble.
"The abbe--how nice it must be to have him," she went off at a
tangent. "A most engaging man. I remember that when he visited us
in Paris I said to your dear father--ah, deary me--he's with the
blessed--that it was a miracle to find such breeding in a provincial.
You must excuse me, pet, if I seem rude to your husband's brother, but
he was brought up in the south somewhere, he told me, where they
cannot be expected to assume the polish of the capital. Well, well--he
must be a very clever and cultivated man as well as a most delightful
one!"
How could the marquise divulge what she knew of the abbe to this
garrulous and purblind old woman? Toinon, who hung about the room and
knew more than did her mistress could scarce contain herself. Had it
been worth while to summon such a silly harridan? Her contingent of
domestics, however, was a safeguard, during whose stay a taster could
be dispensed with. Suffice it, she was here, and must be detained as
long as possible, though she always detested Lorge. Toinon had made up
her mind what steps she intended to take--the very steps which the
abbe had guessed. She intended formally to impeach the abbe and
Mademoiselle Brunelle; to unveil the past and the present for the
shocked old lady's benefit, and solemnly adjure her on her return to
the capital, to take steps for her daughter's safety, or make up her
mind till her dying day to be persecuted by vengeful ghosts. In face
of such an impeachment, and on the production of the cakes, the guilty
abbe would quail. At any rate, his claws would be cut, so far as
extreme measures were concerned.
The reception of the brothers by the marechale was most cordial. The
chevalier quite won her heart, for his watery gaze would remain fixed
on her for hours, while, knitting in hand, she furbished up for him
the legends of the chateau. He was like a wistful eyed, cosy,
lapdog--with an ever-wagging tail. If he spoke little, he was an
excellent listener, and when she grew weary of chattering, the abbe
could talk enough for both. On the whole, much as she disliked the
place, she was quite glad to have come, for the house in the suburbs
of Paris was deadly dull; there was no society at present, since her
old friends were in prison or had emigrated.
It was charming, too, with Gabrielle and the cherubs, to forget the
hurly-burly of the Revolution. The perfect peace and majestic repose
of the chateau were soothing to the nerves, while there was sufficient
liveliness to prevent boredom. There never was so attentive a cavalier
as that delightful abbe who seemed to guess everything by intuition.
Was she chilly, the devoted soul was sure to come round the corner in
answer to a wish, armed with a wrap and an umbrella. For her he
selected the choicest pears and apples at breakfast, indited
complimentary sonnets--as though she were not silver-haired and
wrinkled. As the evenings were drawing in he would improvise games and
pastimes to pass the hours in which the children could join, and made
himself so agreeable to all that the guest was enchanted. "Really,
pet, it is quite arcadian," the worthy dame would remark to her
daughter. "I'd no notion this horrid place could be made so nice. I
can imagine myself at Trianon again in the good old days. Ah, well,
well, well!" And then with a big sigh she would burst into tears,
remembering what had been and what was.
The individual who did not at all appreciate the sudden _volte-face_
was, as may be imagined, Mademoiselle Brunelle. Fortune was in an
elfish mood. For her mother's sake the marquise had tacitly permitted
the brothers to resume the place they had once occupied, promising
herself--when the visit was over--to hold them at arms' length again;
but with Algae it was different. On no pretence could she be permitted
to join the circle. Indeed, it was hinted to her in a politely worded
note that she was delaying her departure over long.
The abbe had declared that the marplot must be frightened away, and
yet he was sparing no pains to make the visit pleasant. It was evident
that he and his brother avoided their ally lest she should fall on
them with just upbraiding. If she beheld them in the distance, it was
but to see them whisking round a corner. Oblivious of feelings she was
left alone to brood and mope; her meals were served apart as though
she were infectious; and now she had received the curtest of summonses
to make herself scarce forthwith. Oh! how she hated the lot of them!
In truth she was in a dilemma, and did not know what to do. Clovis had
been got rid of while something was being done which might revolt his
squeamish nature; and though he said nothing, she was certain that he
had more than a vague suspicion of what was going forward. But
supposing that nothing were to take place after all? Supposing that
when he had raised the necessary sum, and called on the others to join
him, they were to do so, and cross the frontier, leaving Gabrielle
behind? What he was able to raise could not be very much, and one
cannot live in luxury at Geneva or elsewhere on expectations. They
would have to report that the marquise was charming well, instead of
dead, and that, unmolested, she might live on for years. Why should
she not, in their absence, make another will, or a dozen others,
whereby even the shadowy expectations would be reduced to thinnest
air?
Was the abbe scheming to gain time? It struck Algae with a gush of
impotent wrath that perchance the coming of the marechale had been his
own device, arranged so as to tide over the days until mademoiselle
should have no excuse for lingering, that he might then have the
heiress to himself! Perhaps his recently developed hatred of her was a
snare to deceive the governess? If it turned out that this was so,
what course would it behove her to pursue? Should she seem to accept
her fate, drive quietly away, and joining Clovis, unfold the
machinations of his brother? Would Clovis believe, and if he did, how
would he act--he who had fullest confidence in his brother? Were the
suspicions that racked her justified or not? Meanwhile, she was
treated like a social Pariah, and the precious hours waned.
The abbe guessed her thoughts, and laughed. Women are so nimble witted
that when they enter the labyrinth of scheming they frequently wander
too far and lose themselves. Pharamond was quite as anxious to be rid
of the old lady as the younger one could be, but he was far-seeing and
cautious, while his coadjutor was culpably impatient.
It was one night when the family sat at supper in the boudoir that
Toinon struck her blow. There had been a splendid bout of blind man's
buff in the grand saloon. The cherubs had been seized by Toinon and
carried off to bed, flushed, out of breath, and happy. The pursy
chevalier, who had been very active, puffed and blew, and looked like
to have a fit. Madame la Marechale had been frisking after a fashion
that surprised herself. The abbe mopped his face with a dainty
kerchief, and flung himself at Gabrielle's feet, as in the departed
days.
"You are our prisoner, marechale," he cried gaily--"a prisoner for
life in this ancient fortress, and shall never go hence alive. You add
such a charm to our circle that we positively can't do without you. Is
it not so, dear Gabrielle? Tell our mother that she is here for good."
Pharamond glanced up, with a yellow light glinting through half-closed
lids, and lips drawn tightly over teeth: attitude and expression
recalled vividly scenes she would gladly have forgotten, and
Gabrielle, she knew not why, was frightened.
Toinon, re-entering, marked his familiar gesture and her lady's fear,
and her gorge rose till she felt choking. A venomous, slimy snake was
coiling itself about the feet of the marquise, fouling her with its
tainted breath. The abnormal, loathsome reptile! Was he slowly to
enwrap her in his glittering coils and crush her bones, while Toinon
stood by, unaiding? Her brain in a whirl of indignation, the abigail
blurted out, "For good or evil, which? You dare not poison _her_--that
is a comfort--lest her domestics should report the fact."
The suddenness of the attack startled even Pharamond, while the
marechale stared bewildered, and Gabrielle turned a shade more
pale. With anxious and surprised inquiry the marquise gazed at her
foster-sister. What was this? Full well she knew of what the abbe was
capable, and that her maid would not bring false charges.
The ice broken, Toinon felt better, refreshed as by a douche of
water. Leaning against the door, hands firmly planted upon hips, she
turned to the amazed marechale and plainly told her tale. She told of
the marquise's symptoms, of her own suspicion but too soon verified;
of how she had found Jean's dog stretched dead upon the floor, with a
green liquor running from its mouth; how by prompt action she had
saved her mistress, who had luckily taken but a mouthful; how she had
found the abbe in perfect health some hours after (if his tale were
true), he had swallowed a strong dose of poison; how she, Toinon, had
then sent for Madame de Breze, that in the future she might shield her
daughter.
Never in her whole life before had the poor old woman been placed
in a position of responsibility, and she could only murmur in angry
fear--"Why me--why send for me?" Indeed she was a ludicrous example of
the broken reed, and the abbe waved airy thanks to Toinon with white
fingers, in that she was so kindly playing into his hands.
"Why, indeed," he echoed, "if half were true of what that naughty minx
accuses me. I poison our darling Gabrielle! The idea would be
intensely comic if it were not offensive. It is a fact, madame, of
which Gabrielle is well aware, that an accident occurred, owing to a
scullion's carelessness. I myself nearly succumbed, for I had a
desperate battle for life, and when I recovered, sent up a hymn of
thanks to Heaven in that Gabrielle should have but suffered slightly."
"You knew so little of your poison that you assumed wrong symptoms!"
remarked Toinon, in disdain.
"Not so. It is you who know not the poison," retorted Pharamond, with
a malignant flash that was instantly suppressed. "Spite and fatuous
ignorance misled you. The symptoms vary according to quantity imbibed.
I unluckily ate a cake and half before I was aware of anything
peculiar, and any doctor will tell you that whereas a small dose of
subacetate of copper will produce coma, a large one will bring about
griping pains and tetanic convulsions, which, without aid from above,
lead to paralysis and death."
"A large dose acts on the system quickly--within an hour," scoffed the
abigail. "When I told you that the cakes were poisoned you were in
perfect health."
"I had but just partaken----"
"A clumsy liar! I asked Bertrand if he had more of his confectionery,
and he answered with a searching look of suspicious inquiry that all
he had made were served to the marquise."
"Upon my word, the wench is very erudite," laughed the abbe, lightly.
"How come you to know so much?"
"There was an ancient book on poisons in the library. I turned up the
article 'Copper,' and studied it."
"Was?"
"Yes, was. The book is hidden now where you will never find it."
There was a pause, during which the combatants studied each other
warily. Then the abbe, shrugging his shoulders, in disgust drawled
out, "Have we not had enough of this low comedy?"
"I ascertained," pursued the undaunted maiden, "that the necessary
quantity of verdigris so to affect one little cake out of many as
almost to produce coma in one who had taken a single bite must be so
large that a copper cooking-plate would have to be thickly buttered
with it. Now Bertrand excused himself on the plea that the plate in
use was found to be 'not quite clean.' If he had buttered it then was
your 'accident' not due to inadvertence."
"What proof have you that the cakes were so heavily loaded?"
"The fact that the dog died within half-an-hour; that I retained two
which I intend presenting to madame that she may have them analysed in
Paris."
"A pretty story, ingenious as wicked. No one saw the dog perish but
yourself. What evidence is there, except your own, that the cakes in
your possession are in the same condition as when placed on the table?
Are you sure you have any cakes at all?"
There was such an air of mischievous satisfaction underlying the tone
of banter that Toinon's heart stood still. "How are you sure--" she
began, then sped swiftly from the room, to return in a few moments
white as a sheet and breathless.
"They are gone," she panted, "gone! You discovered where they were
concealed, you wicked man, and have destroyed them!"
The abbe rose leisurely from the floor and broke into a shout of
laughter. "Dear ladies," he apologised, "you must forgive so vulgar a
display of merriment, but the jest is too, too good. What subtle
forms, nowadays, will not the malice of the enemy assume! Unfortunate
noblesse! Unjust and cruel age! The inscrutable powers permit us to be
hauled to prison, conducted to the shambles, but allow us to leave the
world with characters unstained. The mob would trump up charges
against us now to justify their deeds; but the charges are so shallow
and so foolish that they defeat their ends. Poisoned cakes! Pah!
Unhappy girl, you who have received a superior education should have
soared above such folly. It was the rumour that spread from Paris
about the king and queen and the poisoned food at the Tuileries that
put this absurd notion in your head. Madame de Breze, I grieve that so
untoward an incident as this should have occurred during your stay
among us, which we have all striven to make a pleasant one. We have
kept it from you, but it is true, to our misfortune, that the spirit
of the province is menacing. There is nothing that the peasants will
not believe against an aristo. If you sallied forth and announced that
I, the Abbe Pharamond, am specially partial to boiled baby, served
_aux choux_, there is not one who would not believe you. This girl is
betrothed to Jean Boulot, the gamekeeper, who deliberately left a
respectable service to make himself notorious at Blois as the most
rabid of all the Jacobins, and it is obvious that she acts now under
his influence, regardless of long service under the marquise and of
the many benefits received. Alack! the ingratitude of those who rend
the hand that caresses them is very hard to bear."
"Madame, you do not believe him?" cried Toinon, throwing herself at
Gabrielle's feet and anxiously searching her face. "You know that the
man is lying!"
"Yes, I know," Gabrielle whispered as she bent to kiss her brow. "I
know you have spoken truth, but we are powerless."
She leaned back, supporting her head wearily upon her arm, perfectly
composed in demeanour, while Toinon, her face buried in her lap,
sobbed as if her heart were breaking.
The aged Madame de Breze turned from one to the other of the group,
utterly mystified, with a growing grudge against some one, at present
she could not tell whom. A gulf had suddenly yawned in front, and from
its depths arose a faint sickening fume of death. Although she had a
foot in the grave she mightily objected to the smell of death. Which
of these two spoke truth? The dear delightful abbe could not have--oh,
no, that was absurd and ridiculous, and yet why should Gabrielle sit
so stonily with that woful look of pain? It was plainly her place to
rise up and take his part, exonerate him at once from even the
slightest shadow of this dreadful thing; at least to declare her
conviction that the abigail was mad, was suffering from some unhealthy
fancy. It was not the poor girl's fault. Were not current events a
more than sufficient excuse for any amount of hysteria? And yet,
Gabrielle was plainly not of her opinion. There was the accuser
nestling her head upon her lap, and the gentle hand was stroking it in
caress and not in chiding. Did Gabrielle--could Gabrielle be keeping
secrets from her parent? Was it the old story of the unappreciated
mentor?
The blessed marechal, who was to be congratulated as out of the
turmoil, had established a deplorable precedent in the matter of
Madame de Breze as an oracle. One of the pleasantest points of the
present _sejour_ was the consideration in which her words were held.
Her views and opinions were treasured up, as they should be, like
flies in amber. Could it--oh, no, horrid thought, it could not
be--that Virginie, Marechale de Breze, aged, never mind how much, _was
deliberately being made a fool of?_ Much as she was disinclined to
believe anything so preposterous, it did look extremely like it. The
husband away, the brother-in-law was openly accused of attempting to
murder his brother's wife, and that lady being present, made no sign
except by affectionately caressing the accuser. Madame de Breze did
not like this new complexion of things at all. How she did and always
had hated mysteries! Why will people be mysterious? Unless conscious
of guilt, there is no cause for crawling in shadow. There could not be
anything between Gabrielle and the abbe? Shocking idea! And yet in
Paris such things often were. Could there also be something between
the abbe and Toinon which rendered the latter jealous? Just like a
woman, Madame de Breze ambled off into the labyrinth of conjecture.
growing each moment more involved in prickly briars, plunging about
and tumbling down in pursuit of Will-o'-the-wisp.
When--Toinon's agitation calmed--everybody went to bed, and Gabrielle
impressed on her mother's brow the chilly kiss of a statue, the
marechale shivered, and there and then resolved that Lorge was a
hateful place fit only for owls and ghouls.