“How lifelike!” he ejaculated. “What an admirable representation of my late friend! I should have known it anywhere, and under any circumstances. I never saw a better portrait.”
“It is wonderfully well done, monsieur. The artist has caught the habitual expression of his features, which, to say the truth, were generally tinged with a shade of melancholy.”
“Say, rather, thoughtfulness,” quietly remarked the chevalier. “The late earl was thoughtful and meditative by nature. There were many reasons for this, which it would be needless to dwell upon now.”
“You are quite right—such was the case,” returned Lord Reginald.
After passing through the gallery, the two friends rambled over the grounds and in the woods on the Broxbridge estate, returning to the hall to dinner.
De Monpres’ visit proved to be a great source of comfort to the young earl.
The chevalier had been so mixed up in recent events that he was specially welcome, and was made much of by the master of the hall.
The days passed pleasantly enough. The chevalier had a whole fund of anecdotes at his command, and although advanced in years, he was brimful of jocularity, sparkling repartee, and lively discourse upon present and past events.
The visitors to the hall were quite charmed with him, and Reginald looked forward to his departure with something like sorrow and regret.
But De Monpres was too well satisfied with his present quarters to dream of leaving them at present. He had passed his word to remain in England till the arrival of Theresa Trieste, who had written a reply to the earl’s letter, intimating that she would be with him as soon as she possibly could. Theresa lost no time in carrying out her promise.