“Do you remember how this charming little opera ends?”
“Certainly, like all other pieces suitable for the theatre; but in real life it is just the contrary, and I like reality.”
Fritz came to announce supper. The gentlemen were cheerful, the Captain noisy and jovial; Francis only gave short and dry answers, and showed me her ill-humour by only giving me the tips of her fingers when she wished us all good-night.
Chapter XVIII.
Unromantic though it may sound, I must confess to having slept well on the first night I spent under the roof of my mother’s ancestors. Sleep surprised me whilst I was reflecting on the strange and incomprehensible character of Francis. Proud, generous, noble-hearted, quick-witted, beautiful—and yet with all her charms (which I could feel had already begun to work upon me) spoilt by a detestable education, by the manners of a sutler and a rudeness of the worst kind. And then, in addition to all this, there was the question of her past life which I had heard painted in such black colours. It seemed doubtful whether Major Frank could ever become Lady Francis van Zonshoven.
When I awoke the sun was streaming through the one window whose shutters I had purposely left open, with the intention of taking an early morning walk. I crept silently down the stairs so as not to awake anybody, but I met Fritz in the vestibule, and he made his military salute in silence. The hall door was wide open. I took the direction of the home-farm, where I hoped to obtain a glass of new milk, and draw the tenants out a little about the inhabitants of the Castle—one in particular.
I had not gone very far before whom should I see coming from the farm but Francis herself, with a basket of fresh eggs.
After a moment’s hesitation I asked—
“Are we again good friends?” For I had an idea she would have taken another path if she had seen me a little sooner.