“So it was a good idea, wasn’t it, M. l’Abbé? Well, it was my notion. Mother isn’t particularly bright in the way of ideas, you know—oh, I’m not reproaching her. However, let us talk seriously. You are very fond of me, are you not, M. l’Abbé?”
M. Guitrel took young Bonmont’s hands in both his.
“Never doubt my affection for you, my son; it is the love of a father for his child; I might even say that it is a maternal love as well, and thus express more fully all that it contains both of strength and tenderness. I have watched you grow up, my dear Ernest, since that day on which you made so excellent a first communion, to this moment, in which you are accomplishing your noble duty as a soldier in our great French Army, which, day by day, I am thankful to say, grows more Christian and more pious. And it is my firm conviction, my dearest boy, that amid the distractions, the errors even of your age, you have kept the faith. Your actions speak for themselves. I know you have always looked upon it as your duty to contribute towards our works of charity. You are my favourite child.”
“Well, then, M. l’Abbé, do your child a good turn. Tell the Duc de Brécé to give me permission to wear the Brécé Hunt badge.”
“The Hunt badge? But, my son, what do I know of such matters? I am not, like M. de Traviès, a great hunter before the Lord. I have followed St. Thomas far more than St. Hubert. The Hunt badge? Is that not a figurative expression, a kind of metaphor to express the idea of membership of the Hunt? Anyway, my son, what you desire is an invitation to the Brécé meets.”
Young Bonmont gave a jump.
“Don’t, for heaven’s sake, get mixed, M. l’Abbé. That’s not it—oh, not a bit of it. An invitation—I’m pretty sure to get an invitation to the de Brécé meets, in exchange for the utensil.”
“Ciborium, ciborium, remember the Latin ciborium! I also think, my dear child, that the Duke and Duchess will make a special point of sending you an invitation as soon as they realize that it will please you and your mother to accept it.”
“I believe you! As soon as they stuck to the plate. But you can tell them from me that I don’t care a flip for an invitation to see a meet. I don’t want to stay and rot at some crossroads where there is nothing to be seen, where you are sure to get all the mud kicked up by the horses full in your face, and then be sworn at by a huntsman for obstructing the way. No, I am not particularly keen on such amusements. The Brécés can keep their invitation!”
“In that case, my son, I do not understand your idea.”