She did not flush up or exclaim “Me!” or exhibit any of the offensive-defensive pertness of the ordinary housemaid surprised out of bounds. She just stood looking at the intruder, a wonder on her rosy lips, and Le Sage for his part returned her scrutiny at his leisure. His impression of the night before he found more than confirmed by daylight: she was a very Arcadian nymph, with a sweet-briar complexion and eyes and hair of thyme and honey; shapely as a doe, ineffably pretty. He wondered less than ever over Louis’s infatuation.
And what was she doing here? Her head was bare; a light waterproof veiled her official livery: it might be concluded without much circumspection that a tryst was in the air.
“I am sorry,” said M. le Baron. “I did not come to be a spoil-sport. I ought, perhaps, to have pretended to see nothing and pass by. But that rudeness of my man last night sticks in my mind, and it occurred to me to apologise for him.”
She laughed, with a tiny toss of her head. “Thank you, sir, but I can look after myself.”
“So I perceive,” he said. “You tone very well with the trees. No eyes, except perhaps the favoured ones, could possibly guess you were here.”
“Except yours, sir,” she said, with just a tiny sauce of irony.
“Except mine, of course,” he agreed; and left her to wonder why, if she would.
“Well,” he said, after a smiling moment, “that was an unpardonable act of Louis’s, only don’t visit it further on his head. I have wanted to warn you, and here is my opportunity. He comes of a hot-blooded race, and there’s no knowing——. But you can look after yourself; I will take your word for it.”
He believed she could, though she made no further answer to assure him; and, with a nod, he went on his way, taking up again the little murmured burden of his song: “Yeux, yeux,—Astres divins tombés des cieux.” “O, eyes!” he said. “Sweetest eyes were even seen! From what heaven did you fall to flower in a housemaid’s face!” There was something suggestive about the girl, more than her surprising beauty—a “towniness,” a hint, both in speech and manner, of some shrewd quality which was not of the soil. “When Lamia takes to country service,” thought the Baron, “let more than rustic hearts look to their locks!” With whom, he wondered, could be her assignation? What if, after all, it were with Louis himself? Would that surprise him? Perhaps not. Cabanis was a handsome and compelling fellow, and women, like the Lord, could chasten whom they loved. But he devoutly hoped it was not so; he desired no amorous complications in his train; and, disturbed by the thought, he inquired for his valet the moment he reached the house—only to learn that the man had gone out some time before and had not yet returned. Somewhat disquieted, Le Sage entered the hall, where he was met by his host.
“Ah, Baron!” hailed Sir Calvin. “Punctuality itself! Go into my study, will you, and I’ll join you in a moment.”