"My dear Sister—On Tuesday we shall arrive, I, my wife, our boy, and his fiancée, Lady Brigit Mead. She is a very beautiful and charming young lady, and I am sure you will all admire her. Félicité, who is very wise, fears that she, Lady Brigit, may not care for Falaise, for she is, my dear sister, the daughter of a Count. But I, who am even wiser, know that she will. Dear Falaise, to me always the most beautiful town in the world, who could help loving thee? Now, my good Bathilde, I wish you to go to Berton of the Chevreuil d'Or and engage rooms for Lady Brigit. Two rooms, one without a bed, for a salon. Tell him they must be very nice, and you, I know, will see that they are clean. We, of course, will lodge in the Rue Victor Hugo with the old people. My affectionate salutations to you all, my dear sister, from your devoted brother,
Victor."
"He is a charming personality, isn't he, Colibris?" asked Madame Chalumeau, folding the letter and beaming with satisfaction. "I am curious to see this lady. The daughter of a Count, fichtre! And very beautiful. That must please Victor; he has an eye for beauty."
"Yes, yes," returned Jacques Colibris absently, filling his glass with cider, "it is an excellent thing. I, too, have it, the eye for beauty. Only the other day, looking at the new blue wash I have put on the walls, old Madame Thibaut was saying——"
"What an eye for beauty you have!" cut short Madame Chalumeau ruthlessly. "Well, Jacques, I must now make myself presentable and go to the Rue d'Argentin. Berton will no doubt be very proud to have a lady in his inn—although many English people stop there. It is curious," she added, putting her plate on his and carrying them to a distant table, "what an interest ces Anglais take in le Conquérant. As an enemy, one who conquered their country, one would think they would dislike his memory, but they do not. Very generous of them, I always think."
CHAPTER THREE
Joyselle's party arrived at Falaise the next evening, and leaving Brigit at the inn in the Rue d'Argentin, the others drove on to old M. Joyselle's house in the Rue Victor Hugo.
Brigit was very tired and glad to rest, for the day's journey had been long, and Joyselle's interest in her interest in his country had taken the form of a restless desire to have her see everything possible from both sides of the compartment. For hours, therefore, she had been springing from one window to another, admiring everything to which he pointed, in a mad attempt to satisfy his pride in ici-bas.
Her coming at all had been entirely his idea, and her faint refusals he had laughed to scorn, easily enlisting Théo, and, with a trifle more difficulty, his wife, to his cause.