“It was not my fault, I swear! I was just on the point of it when my companion stopped me.”
“So there are people who can restrain you?”
“Not many, but he can.”
“And now you regret it?”
“Honestly, no! This brave stage-robber did the business with such swaggering bravado that I admired him. I love brave men instinctively. Had I not killed M. de Barjols I should have liked to be his friend. It is true I could not tell how brave he was until I had killed him. But let us talk of something else; that duel is one of my painful thoughts. But why did I come up? It was certainly not to talk of the Companions of Jehu, nor of M. Laurent’s exploits—Ah! I came to ask how you would like to spend your time. I’ll cut myself in quarters to amuse you, my dear guest, but there are two disadvantages against me: this region, which is not very amusing, and your nationality, which is not easily amused.”
“I have already told you, Roland,” replied Lord Tanlay, offering his hand to the young man, “that I consider the Château des Noires-Fontaines a paradise.”
“Agreed; but still in the fear that you may find your paradise monotonous, I shall do my best to entertain you. Are you fond of archeology—Westminster and Canterbury? We have a marvel here, the church of Brou; a wonder of sculptured lace by Colonban. There is a legend about it which I will tell you some evening when you cannot sleep. You will see there the tombs of Marguerite de Bourbon, Philippe le Bel, and Marguerite of Austria. I will puzzle you with the problem of her motto: ‘Fortune, infortune, fort’une,’ which I claim to have solved by a Latinized version: ‘Fortuna, in fortuna, forti una.’ Are you fond of fishing, my dear friend? There’s the Reissouse at your feet, and close at hand a collection of hooks and lines belonging to Edouard, and nets belonging to Michel; as for the fish, they, you know, are the last thing one thinks about. Are you fond of hunting? The forest of Seillon is not a hundred yards off. Hunting to hounds you will have perforce to renounce, but we have good shooting. In the days of my old bogies, the Chartreuse monks, the woods swarmed with wild boars, hares and foxes. No one hunts there now, because it belongs to the government; and the government at present is nobody. In my capacity as General Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp I’ll fill the vacancy, and we’ll see who dares meddle with me, if, after chasing the Austrians on the Adige and the Mamelukes on the Nile, I hunt the boars and deer and the hares and foxes on the Reissouse. One day of archeology, one day of fishing, and one of hunting, that’s three already. You see, my dear fellow, we have only fifteen or sixteen left to worry about.”
“My dear Roland,” said Sir John sadly, and without replying to the young officer’s wordy sally, “won’t you ever tell me about this fever which sears you, this sorrow which undermines you?”
“Ah!” said Roland, with his harsh, doleful laugh. “I have never been gayer than I am this morning; it’s your liver, my lord, that is out of order and makes you see everything black.”
“Some day I hope to be really your friend,” replied Sir John seriously; “then you will confide in me, and I shall help you to bear your burden.”