“From the young fellow who was Chanet’s second. He has behaved in a way which meets with my unqualified approval.”
“Has he?”
“Yes, he is an honourable and upright young man and evinced the greatest possible solicitude for your safety. He knew the danger of the situation—knew that a band of mountaineers were in league together to—well—bah—murder you at their earliest convenience, and made me acquainted with the whole of their proceedings. I had three or four of the rascals arrested, but as there was no direct evidence against them they were discharged with a caution. This is all I could possibly do, and I believe that to a certain extent it had a salutary effect. They were intimidated. They knew the eyes of the officers of justice were on them, and they returned to their fastnesses like a set of curs as they are. Still, my friend, despite all these precautions, we cannot conceal from ourselves that your life was not worth a few hours’ purchase while you were in the neighbourhood of those treacherous mountains. Neither would it be now if you were imprudent enough to return.”
“I am not likely to do that,” said Lord Reginald; “not at all likely, for very many reasons.”
“I should suppose not.”
“Oh, dear me, no; but the day is still young, what say you to a stroll in the grounds?”
“Nothing would please me better, but before proceeding thither will you just let me have a look at your picture gallery?”
“By all means—with the greatest pleasure.”
Lord Reginald Ethalwood conducted the chevalier to the gallery in which the late earl so loved to linger, and here it was that Charles Peace, in an earlier day, succeeded in making such a wonderful restoration of one of the portraits which now looked as fresh and bright as when it was first painted.
As the old Frenchman passed through he came to a sudden halt, and stood for some time gazing upon the portrait of the late earl.