Keep not in twain for ever heart and heart
That once, albeit by not thy law, were one.
—Swinburne.
The next moment the door which gave on the landing was thrown open, and Michael stood face to face with M. Legros.
Thus premonition had come true. Thus would nothing remain of the past delicious hour only remembrance and bitter, bitter longing for what could never be.
The light of the one candle fell full upon the unromantic figure of the good tailor, on his pallid face whereon beads of perspiration told their mute tale of anxiety and of fulsome wrath. His eyes, dilated and tawny in colour were fastened full upon the reprobate, demanding above all things to know if the outraged father had perchance arrived too late.
The man's gay wedding clothes were torn and awry; mud covered his shoes and stockings for he had not even stopped to be booted and spurred. The old English serving-man who had vainly tried earlier in the day to gain speech with the master tailor, had reached the august presence at last, and had handed to M. Legros the letter which was to be given to him and to no one else. It was written in a bold, clear hand and in scholarly French for the better understanding of Monsieur the tailor to the king. Mistress Peyton having penned a few ill-scrawled, ill-spelt words had bethought herself of a young Huguenot clerk of French parentage who earned his living in London by the work of his pen; and being desirous above all that M. Legros should fully comprehend her letter, she caused it to be translated and writ clearly by that same young clerk, ere she finally entrusted it to Daniel Pye for delivery.
Thus it was that that which was written in the letter did not fail to reach the understanding of good Papa Legros. It was a full and detailed account of the treachery which had been perpetrated on the tailor's daughter by one Michael Kestyon, who was naught but a dissolute profligate, a liar and a cheat, since his own cousin was Earl of Stowmaries, and no one else had any right to such title but he.
Papa Legros did not trouble to ask many questions, and since the English lout knew not a word of French, the good tailor took no further heed of him. He spoke to no one, not even to his wife. The letter said something which must be verified at once—at once—before it was too late. He gave orders that no one—least of all Mme. Legros—was to be disturbed, the merrimaking was to go on, the dancing, the eating and drinking, the speech making and all.
Then he slipped out by the back door and reached the small outbuilding where he kept a horse, which served him on occasions when he had to go to Versailles to try on a pair of breeches for His Majesty the King. It took good M. Legros no time to saddle his horse, and a ride of over three hours had no terrors for him beside the awful fear which gripped his paternal heart.