On reaching the citadel Mrs. Baron and Roy were desired by the Colonel to remain in the coach, while he and Denham disappeared, to be carefully examined and closely questioned, and again to give their parole, after which they came out, the Colonel saying shortly, "That business is done! Tell them where to go, Den. They seem determined to know us again."
"Were they civil?" his wife asked.
"No end of a fuss, my dear. As if the word of an English gentleman were not sufficient! Close description of us both written in the register."
Once more they drove on, Roy gazing from side to side, noting the small insignificant shops, and exclaiming at occasional peeps of the river, with an interest which never failed him. The others were silent, and saw less. Mrs. Baron's eyes were dim; the Colonel was preoccupied; and Ivor, usually the most observant of men, seemed to notice nothing.
Presently they stopped before the gateway of a large old house or small private hotel, with an untidy courtyard. An old Frenchman, in quaint dress, grey-haired, with an imposing pigtail, came to meet them, bowing profoundly to the gentlemen, and still more profoundly to Mrs. Baron.
"C'est, sans doute, Monsieur le Colonel—et Madame."
Colonel Baron's particular gift did not lie in foreign languages. He never could talk French, and he never would, no matter how many years he might live in France.
"Oui, Monsieur. Bonjour. C'est nous qui sont viendrai," he responded, feeling it incumbent on him to say something, as he descended from the old coach. "J'espère que vous ètes bien. Je suis bien aise que nous sommes haut—pas bas—pas près de le rivière. Denham, you can do it better than I. Just say what's suitable."
Denham obeyed, and the next sight which dawned upon them was the gentle face of Lucille de St. Roques. The Colonel and his wife gratefully expressed their thanks for her past kindness to their boy, as she led the way upstairs to the first floor. There stood Mme. Courant, a fat and smiling little Frenchwoman, ready to bestow unlimited welcomes upon the unfortunate foreigners.
Lucille exchanged bows with Ivor, and then she had a few words with him, scanning his face with troubled glances. The rooms had to be inspected, and they were found to be not bad as to size, though meagrely furnished. Lucille had evidently worked hard, trying to make things wear as far as possible an English look. If her efforts were less successful than she wished, nobody betrayed the fact.