“I should think so,” replied Tournier; “or if the English Government failed to do so, ours will not forget them. And yet, the shameful butchery of Marshal Ney does not favour the idea. They may look on them, as they
did him, as soldiers of Napoleon, not of France.”
Then they slowly wended their way homeward, Tournier turning round on his saddle to take a last look at the place that interested him so deeply, and again exclaiming, “There should I be lying now, in a dishonoured grave, but for God’s great mercy.”
That night, poor Alice could not sleep, but watered her pillow with tears.
“He does not care for me a bit,” she said; “he is just the same as he used to be, only stiffer in his manner. But what does it matter? I could never leave my darling brother; and what is more, I never will. But he is so nice, nicer than ever.” And the tears came again, with a wee bit of vexation in them, and kept on at intervals, till kindly sleep at length fell on those dear blue eyes, and dried them up.
And while this was going on, her brother and his friend were smoking and talking together below.
“You must find it very wearysome, Tournier, to live by yourself now. You are not the man to like that sort of thing. You are too unselfish to be a confirmed bachelor. Excuse me for touching on a painful subject, I use the privilege of a friend.”
“I thank you for doing so. But the fact is, and you cannot be surprised at it, I have lost all faith in a woman’s constancy. No doubt there are many of my countrywomen who would make me a happy man, but I don’t know them, and do not mean to search them out.”
Cosin was silent.
What good angel put it into Tournier’s mind to come out with it? but he did burst forth, after a pause, with the imprudent assertion, “The only woman in the world I know in whom anybody might place entire reliance is your sister. Sure am I that the blue sky of Heaven does not more truly reflect the love of God than her blue eyes reflect constancy and truth!”