A vivid look of pain shot across Mme. de la Vireville's face, and was gone in an instant. "Yes, might one not, my child?" she answered quietly. But later, when she was back in the little parlour with her guests, and sat for a moment studying the two, her gaze was clouded with a profound sadness. And, as it happened, her son looked up and caught the expression. His eyes smiled at her, but his mouth was grave.
At the end of the repast Anne-Hilarion was installed in an arm-chair with a book, while mother and son conferred together on the window-seat.
"You will oblige me, Fortuné," began Mme. de la Vireville, "by going as soon as possible to a surgeon. You are telling me the truth when you say that it is nothing serious?" she added, eyeing the bandage round his head with suspicion.
"Have you ever known me lie to you, little mother?" he retorted. "The bullet must have struck the mast and glanced off on to my head, which is equally hard. I promise you that I will have the scratch attended to. But first I must make inquiries about the English frigate. Should she be sailing this afternoon or evening, as I suspect, Anne must go in her."
"You will not go with him yourself, Fortuné?"
"No, I must find an officer to whom to confide him. It should not be difficult. And after that I must see the Prince without delay; I am already four or five days late, and as usual there is some business about landing muskets."
The light that had sprung into his mother's eyes died out of them. "Surely, if you are not going to England, you could stay here this one night?"
La Vireville bent forward and kissed her. "We will see, my heart. Meanwhile, I leave M. le Comte in your charge."
(3)
A couple of hours later he returned with a young man in uniform, and Mr. Francis Tollemache, of His Britannic Majesty's Navy, had his first glimpse of a French interior.