But Roland, who recognized himself again in his young brother, instead of blaming him, smiled at his boyish ardor. “I’d take you willingly,” said he, “only to go hunting one must at least know how to handle a gun.”
“Oh, Master Roland,” cried Edouard, “just come into the garden a bit. Put up your hat at a hundred yards, and I’ll show you how to handle a gun.”
“Naughty child,” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel, trembling, “where did you learn?”
“Why, from the gunsmith at Montagnac, who keeps papa’s and Roland’s guns. You ask me sometimes what I do with my money, don’t you? Well, I buy powder and balls with it, and I am learning to kill Austrians and Arabs like my brother Roland.”
Madame de Montrevel raised her hands to heaven.
“What can you expect, mother?” asked Roland. “Blood will tell. No Montrevel could be afraid of powder. You shall come with us to-morrow, Edouard.”
The boy sprang upon his brother’s neck.
“And I,” said Sir John, “will equip you to-day like a regular huntsman, just as they used to arm the knights of old. I have a charming little rifle that I will give you. It will keep you contented until your sabre and pistols come.”
“Well,” asked Roland, “are you satisfied now, Edouard?”
“Yes; but when will he give it to me? If you have to write to England for it, I warn you I shan’t believe in it.”