His master looked up.
"Duson!"
"Your Grace!"
"The Duc de Souspennier remains here--or at the bottom of the
lake--what matters! It is Mr. Sabin who travels to New York,
and for whom you engage rooms at the Holland House. Mr. Sabin is
a cosmopolitan of English proclivities."
"Very good, sir!"
"Lock this door. Bring my coat and hat five minutes before the
carriage starts. Let the servants be well paid. Let none of them
attempt to see me."
The man bowed and disappeared. Left to himself, Mr. Sabin rose from
his chair, and pushing open the windows, stood upon the verandah.
He leaned heavily upon his stick with both hands, holding it before
him. Slowly his eyes traveled over the landscape.
It was a very beautiful home which he was leaving. Before him
stretched the gardens--Italian in design, brilliant with flowers,
with here and there a dark cedar-tree drooping low upon the lawn.
A yew hedge bordered the rose-garden, a fountain was playing in
the middle of a lake. A wooden fence encircled the grounds, and
beyond was a smooth rolling park, with little belts of pine
plantations and a few larger trees here and there. In the far
distance the red flag was waving on one of the putting greens.
Archie Green was strolling up the hillside,--his pipe in his mouth,
and his driver under his arm.
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