And all the rest turned on the instant to look at the little figure, clad only in a nightshirt, which was visible in the doorway, behind René de Flavigny's back.
"Anne!" exclaimed the latter. "Whatever are you doing here—and in that costume!"
A trifle daunted, the child hung back, clutching the door handle, though he knew all the company, and one of them—he who had hailed him—had his especial favour. Then he made a dash for his father.
"Papa," he burst out, clinging to him, "do not go to Noroway-over-the-foam! You know what it says, how the feather-beds floated about in the waves, and they lost their shoes, and the sea came in, and they were all drowned fifty fathoms deep!"
"My child," said the young man gently, putting his arm round him, "what on earth are you talking about? I think you must be walking in your sleep. Nobody is going to Noroway, so nobody will be drowned. And you must not interrupt these gentlemen. You see, we are busy. You must go back to bed, my little one. La Vireville, have the goodness to ring the bell, will you?"
The tall Chouan leader rose at once from his place, but, instead of obeying, he snatched the cloth off a neighbouring table, and in a moment had picked up the intruder and enveloped him in it. "Bed is not recommended, I think, René, for this parishioner. We cannot, however, have such a sans-culotte amongst us. That lack being remedied, I fancy we shall sleep more comfortably here, don't you, Anne?" And he was back in his place, the boy, wrapped in the red and black tablecloth, on his knee, before even paternal authority could object.
"I am sure that is the best solution," said the old Abbé, smiling at the child over his glasses. "Pray proceed, Marquis."
So René de Flavigny finished his notes, and looked round for opinions, while his son whispered to the Chevalier de la Vireville, "Where is Verona? Could it be fifty fathoms deep there?" And the Chouan said softly, "No, foolish one, for it is nowhere near the sea, and all this talk only means that Papa is going to Italy to see the Regent, who is a stout, middle-aged gentleman, and not a king's daughter, so you need not be frightened."
"I am of Mr. Windham's opinion," the Vicomte de Soucy was meanwhile saying; "and I verily believe that he has our interests at heart, probably more than Mr. Pitt, certainly more than Mr. Dundas. If the British Government really means seriously to support an expedition to France, the Regent should be sounded."
"How much does the Duc d'Harcourt know of the Government's dispositions?" asked someone, referring to the Regent's accredited representative in London.