Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. Don’t favour your father much, either, if it comes to that. After all, this could never be the black sheep. She was honest again. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. The gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety i' that pris'n.
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