(2)
But as the Chouan was replacing him under the parrots and humming-birds, Anne-Hilarion murmured sleepily, "I am glad that Papa is not going to fetch the King's daughter; but if he is going to this place—Ver . . . Verona, will you not come and see me, M. le Chevalier, while he is away?"
"But I am going away too, in a few days," replied his friend. "To Jersey, and then to France."
"Then will you come and say good-bye to me?"
"Yes, I will do that," assented the émigré. "Now go to sleep. Good-night, my little cabbage."
Then he too went quickly and quietly out of the room, for neither had he any desire that the justly scandalised and incensed Elspeth should fall upon him. But, alas, the dragon was standing outside the door.
"Eh, sirs!" she ejaculated at sight of him. "'Tis easy tae see ye hae nae childer o' yer ain! Tae tak' yon bairn oot o' his bed at sic a time o' nicht!"
M. de la Vireville might have retorted that not only was he innocent of this crime, but that he had, on the contrary, restored the wanderer—though not instantly—to that refuge. Also, had he but known, it was Elspeth, with her rendering of a too-suggestive tale, who had been at the bottom of Anne's exploit, and was therefore, partly at least, responsible for the consequences which were to follow it. But, being French and not Scotch, he had never heard of Sir Patrick Spens, and could not claim second-sight. He set up a weak defence by observing that the Marquis knew of the occurrence.
"Indeed, it's a verra gude thing for the bairn that his father is gaein' awa," retorted Elspeth instantly. "'Tis bad eno' wi' Glenauchtie himsel'" (thus she preferred to speak of Mr. Elphinstone), "but when there's twa puir misguidit bodies tae——"
La Vireville, who was already a step or two down the staircase, stopped suddenly.