Armand de la Roche-Guyon nearly dropped his reins. "Mais, mon Dieu, that makes it worse!" he exclaimed. "In a party of English ladies you can indeed observe that each has taken a hint from the Continent for her dress or her manner, and the result, ma foi, is often to make die of laughter. I have seen ... but that would not interest you ... Tenez, the way an Englishwoman sits down upon a chair, have you ever thought to remark that? It is as if chance alone had caused her to fall there! She sits down without paying the least attention to her dress. But the care with which a Frenchwoman places herself in an armchair, taking hold of her robe on either side, raising her arms gently as a bird spreads its wings! Even if she should be exhausted by laughing or half-fainting from emotion, still her dress will remain untumbled. It is worth remarking, I assure you!"
Certainly these observations would never have occurred to Mr. Hungerford, and to judge by his expression, he had small wish even to make them vicariously. His companion was instantly aware of this.
"Forgive me, mon ami! I see that you think it is not convenable that I should thus criticise your fair compatriots, whom, du reste, I admire from the bottom of my heart. And let me assure you that I have no criticisms for Miss Grenville; she is perfection itself."
"You are very good," replied Tristram, without trying to suppress the irony of his tone.
The corners of the Comte's mouth twitched, and to Tristram's relief he touched up his horse for a sign that the subject was done with. As their hoofs rang sharply on the road the Englishman glanced once or twice at the clear profile beside him, stamped so visibly with the mark of race—and with what else? That was the question. Armand seemed to him such a boy—but not an English boy. Well, he was very attractive, but——
As they were fastening up their horses outside the Rectory, the subject of these speculations suddenly said, with an air of great earnestness, "Mon ami, I wish you would explain to me one trait in the English character which I have never been able to understand. An Englishman is so haughty, he has such high notions of what befits a gentleman, and yet he will receive money from the man who has seduced his wife. If I had run away with the wife of an Englishman, I should expect to give him the chance of putting a bullet into me, but he would expect me to pay him in bank notes the value of the lady—how one estimates that I know not. Can you solve me this problem of the English character?"
Though the Rectory drawing-room was empty, Tristram did not attempt to elucidate this point, and his questioner, whose query was probably only rhetorical, sat and gazed with deep and silent attention at a picture of Daniel in the lions' den, worked in silks, which hung over the sofa. Then the door opened, and admitted the Rector, looking rather worried.
"Ah, M. de la Roche-Guyon, I am very glad to see you! Tristram, this Otmoor business is disgraceful! I hear there was a riot in Oxford on Monday night, and that the mob succeeded in releasing the prisoners."
"It is true," returned Tristram. "We were in Oxford on Monday evening, La Roche-Guyon and I, and saw it——"
"Saw it! Well, was it as bad as I have heard?"