As the
curtain went down for the last time he saw that Tayoga, too, was
moved.
"The English king was a wicked man," he said, "but he died like a
great chief."
They all passed out now, the street was filled with carriages and the
torches of the link boys and there was a great hum of conversation.
St. Luc returned to Robert's mind, but he kept to himself the fact
that he had been in the theater. It might be his duty to state to the
military that he had seen in the city an important Frenchman who must
have come as a spy, but he could not do so. Nor did he feel any
pricklings of the conscience about it, because he believed, even if he
gave warning of St. Luc's presence, the wary chevalier would escape.
They stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the carriages, great
high-bodied vehicles, roll away. Mr. Hardy had a carriage of his own,
but the distance between his house and the theater was so short that
he had not thought it necessary to use it. The night was clear, very
cold and the illusion of the play was still upon the younger members
of his group.
"You liked it?" said Mr. Hardy, looking keenly at Robert.
"It was another and wonderful world to me," replied the youth.
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