CHAPTER XIV.
“Gone, and none know it.
How now?—What news, what hopes and steps discovered!”
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: The Pilgrim.
When Philip arrived at his lodgings in town it was very late, but he still found Liancourt waiting the chance of his arrival. The Frenchman was full of his own schemes and projects. He was a man of high repute and connections; negotiations for his recall to Paris had been entered into; he was divided between a Quixotic loyalty and a rational prudence; he brought his doubts to Vaudemont. Occupied as he was with thoughts of so important and personal a nature, Philip could yet listen patiently to his friend, and weigh with him the pros and cons. And after having mutually agreed that loyalty and prudence would both be best consulted by waiting a little, to see if the nation, as the Carlists yet fondly trusted, would soon, after its first fever, offer once more the throne and the purple to the descendant of St. Louis, Liancourt, as he lighted his cigar to walk home, said, “A thousand thanks to you, my dear friend: and how have you enjoyed yourself in your visit? I am not surprised or jealous that Lilburne did not invite me, as I do not play at cards, and as I have said some sharp things to him!”
“I fancy I shall have the same disqualifications for another invitation,” said Vaudemont, with a severe smile. “I may have much to disclose to you in a few days. At present my news is still unripe. And have you seen anything of Lilburne? He left us some days since. Is he in London?”
“Yes; I was riding with our friend Henri, who wished to try a new horse off the stones, a little way into the country yesterday. We went through———and H——. Pretty places, those. Do you know them?”
“Yes; I know H——.”
“And just at dusk, as we were spurring back to town, whom should I see walking on the path of the high-road but Lord Lilburne himself! I could hardly believe my eyes. I stopped, and, after asking him about you, I could not help expressing my surprise to see him on foot at such a place. You know the man’s sneer. ‘A Frenchman so gallant as Monsieur de Liancourt,’ said he, ‘need not be surprised at much greater miracles; the iron moves to the magnet: I have a little adventure here. Pardon me if I ask you to ride on.’ Of course I wished him good day; and a little farther up the road I saw a dark plain chariot, no coronet, no arms, no footman only the man on the box, but the beauty of the horses assured me it must belong to Lilburne. Can you conceive such absurdity in a man of that age—and a very clever fellow too? Yet, how is it that one does not ridicule it in Lilburne, as one would in another man between fifty and sixty?”
“Because one does not ridicule,—one loathes-him.”
“No; that’s not it. The fact is that one can’t fancy Lilburne old. His manner is young—his eye is young. I never saw any one with so much vitality. ‘The bad heart and the good digestion’—the twin secrets for wearing well, eh!”
“Where did you meet him—not near H——?”