“That you are a simpleton, my son; just trouble yourself to look over there.”
“Well, sir!”
“Well, the queen looks back, and it is the third time she has done so; there! she turns again, and who do you think she is looking for but for you, M. Puritan?”
“Well, sir,” said the young man; “if it were true, which it probably is not, that the queen was looking for——”
“Oh!” interrupted the old man, angrily, “this fellow is not of my blood; he cannot be a Taverney. Sir, I repeat to you that the queen is looking for you.”
“You have good sight, sir,” said his son, dryly.
“Come,” said the old man, more gently, and trying to moderate his impatience, “trust my experience: are you, or are you not, a man?”
Philippe made no reply.
His father ground his teeth with anger, to see himself opposed by this steadfast will; but making one more effort, “Philippe, my son,” said he, still more gently, “listen to me.”
“It seems to me, sir, that I have been doing nothing else for the last quarter of an hour.”