"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely.
"These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their
proper owner."
"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La
Masque. Thief-robber-housebreaker - stop!"
"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl
like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they
are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things
that were!"
"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and
anger. "Help! help! help!"
"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I
will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as
this. I tell you La Masque is dead!"
At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and
became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.
"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy
sternness, "and there will be somebody else coming to take
possession shortly. How many more servants are there here beside
yourself?"
"Only one, sir - my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not
turn us out in the streets at this dreadful time!"
"Not I! You and your wife Joanna may stagnate here till you
blue-mold, for me.
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