“Here we are,” said her husband cheerfully, uttering the instinctive banality of most arrivals. He kissed Madame de Château-Foix’ fingers, and then her cheek. “And here is the celebrated traveller,” he added, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder and bringing him forward. “Louis, here is your aunt, who is very glad to see you.”
A little to the Marquise’s discomfiture—for she was prepared to clasp him in her arms—the small newcomer made her a profound bow. As he raised himself from his salute she saw, with a pang at her heart, that he was without exception the most beautiful boy on whom she had ever set eyes. He had to the life the head of Greuze’s “Espièglerie”—a face of beauty and mischief—and as Madame de Château-Foix met the gaze of the sparkling grey eyes with their dark lashes, and saw the curves of the youthful mouth, she realised that the Fates had assigned to her lot that difficult if attractive task, a high-spirited child. But, as with most of her sex, the charm of childish beauty was too strong either for maternal jealousy or for premonition of future struggles, and she went down on her knees, and, clasping the boy to her breast, kissed him warmly.
Gilbert had stood in the background, a silent spectator, but as his mother rose he came forward of his own accord, and half shyly, half composedly held out his hand, and said: “Welcome, Cousin Louis.”
When the child had been taken upstairs, and Gilbert had vanished in the same direction, the Marquis looked enquiringly at his wife.
“He is a beautiful boy,” said she slowly.
“And a very bright one,” returned M. de Château-Foix. “I assure you, he has proved an excellent travelling companion.”
“And as a companion for Gilbert?” queried the Marquise.
“He should do him all the good in the world,” responded her husband promptly. “Gilbert wants rousing; you know my views about him, Félicité. Louis is—let me see—just about two years younger than he. I don’t know what sort of an education he has had—probably a somewhat fragmentary one, since his father died, at least—but if it is at all possible for them to have lessons together, the stimulus may be of great gain to Gilbert. We must see what M. des Graves says.”
The Marquise gave a little sigh. “It will all be so different,” she said regretfully.
“Of course it will, my love,” said the Marquis cheerfully. “I hope it will also be better. It is not good for children to play alone.” And, taking his leave of his wife, he went to change his travelling clothes, while Madame de Château-Foix slowly made her way to the apartment of the new arrival. She found him, perfectly undisturbed by the grave and speculating gaze of Gilbert, chatting confidentially to the old nurse who was brushing out his curls.