And, coming back fully to the present, she realised that the half-jesting hypotheses were indeed playing round the fringes of truth. So very little—and they had never met!
"O my darling!" she cried with a shudder.
(4)
Half-past five on her last day at Kerfontaine found Horatia, a trifle nervous, receiving her guests of the dinner-party, all of that class of country gentry forced by the modesty of their incomes to live on their little estates, and able but rarely to afford a visit to Paris. The ladies' modes were a little antiquated, and one old gentleman was even wearing powder. It was evident that all were curious to see the English bride.
Among the somewhat crude tones of the women's dresses and the old-fashioned coloured coats of the men, the village curé in his cassock was easily discernible, and him, to Horatia's momentary surprise, she found in the place of honour at her right hand when they were at last seated round the table. He was a little, snuffy old man, very noticeably of peasant origin, and not above relishing better fare than ordinary, for he looked with an appreciative eye upon the large piece of boiled beef in the middle of the table, and upon the other dishes round it, the roast mutton, the sweetbreads, the pâtes de cervelle. He was also, to Horatia's further surprise, served before any of the ladies, and made good use of his start.
"Madame la Comtesse is not Catholic?" he asked after a while, turning on her a not unkindly gaze.
"No," answered Horatia, flushing a little. "I am English, you know, M. le Curé."
"It will come, it will come," said the old man, and he polished his plate strenuously with a bit of bread. Then, his utterance impeded by the sodden morsel, he added, "No doubt M. le Comte will get Monsignor de la Roche-Guyon to convert you."
Armand, looking very handsome, gay and debonair at the other end of the table, must have caught this stifled remark, for he flashed an amused glance at his wife. But the subject was not pursued, and the old Baron on Horatia's left hand, who had been all through the Chouannerie, and had left two fingers in it, began to discourse on the battle of Navarino, and after that the lady nearest to him desired to know of Horatia the motion of a steam-packet; oh, of course Madame had not come by Calais, but by sailing-vessel to St. Malo; and she actually preferred the long voyage? Incredible! ...
The last couple had scarcely taken their leave before Armand gave a sigh of relief. "Are they not strange old fossils?" he inquired. "I think you can have nothing so curious in England. Some of these ladies have never been to Paris in their lives.... You shall give me sixteen kisses, one for each guest."