“It is to prove yourself the most disinterested,” she said. “How can I acquit myself of gratitude to my friend—to my knight-errant?”
Ned, in the hot longing of his soul, was near stumbling upon a suggestion as to the reward it was in her power, if not to bestow, at least to influence. But he remembered his promise to Pamela, and was fain to let the opportunity pass.
Then madame, to some fine play of emotion, produced a couple of letters under seal—the first to monsieur le duc, the second to her own son-in-law, M. Becelaer de Lawoestine. To the latter gentleman’s address in Brussels she begged my lord to proceed in the first instance. The Belgian nobleman would give him honourable welcome, no less for her sake than for monsieur’s most obvious merits. Moreover, De Lawoestine would furnish him with precise directions as to where monseigneur was at the moment to be found; if, indeed, monseigneur was not at the very time the other’s guest in Brussels.
These were Ned’s simple instructions. There were tender messages to madame’s daughter; suggestions as to the attitude most effective to be assumed towards monseigneur by madame’s plenipotentiary; references to the agony of suspense madame must suffer until she should learn the result of her envoy’s mission. Madame, in truth, either acted her part so well, or lived in it so naturally, as to half convince herself, we must believe, that she was not acting at all.
“We are ready, as you see, to start the moment monseigneur’s command shall reach us,” she said. “We pray, monsieur, for the prosperous termination to your voyage.”
Her eyes were moist; she impulsively extended her hand, which his lordship less impulsively kissed. His lips, indeed, unpractised in gallantry, were in pledge to a dream; his understanding, also. Had it not been, he might have inclined to the question, How comes it that madame, in direct communication with the Duke of Orleans, is unable to acquaint me certainly as to that prince’s present address?
Ned returned to the drawing-room, prepared to repudiate any suggestion of the glamour that might be held to attach itself to a mild form of heroism. His modesty was not put to the test. The company accepted him in a frolic mood. It was full of laughter and thoughtlessness. He was rallied only on his serious mien. Pamela, wilful and radiant, would acknowledge him for no more than the means to a jest. Her affectation of indifference was secretly a stimulus to the spirits of two, at least, of the party. For a household depressed by the gloom of impending misfortune, the atmosphere was singularly volatile.
Not to the end did Ned receive one hint that his self-sacrifice was appreciated and applauded; and at last he must make his adieux without the comfort of even a sympathetic glance from a certain direction to cheer him on his way.
He had put on his hat and coat, had reached the very porch on his way forth, when a light step sounded behind him.
“Good-bye, monsieur!”