"Why, you do not anticipate fighting again, surely?"
"No, no; and if there were I could hardly grow them to order in a day or two. But my grandmother, who is very much ancien régime, greatly prefers the queue to which she was accustomed—in my father, for instance. So when I return, as I shortly shall, to my rustic solitudes, I may have to let my hair grow again to please her. But I drew the line at showing myself in Paris in times of peace like that!"
"Some men with his reputation would cling to the singularity," thought Laurent; "I was sure he hated display."
"Your men are disbanded now, I suppose?" he enquired.
"Yes, the Eperviers exist no longer.—Did I tell you that they called themselves the 'Hawks'—I suppose because of the name of 'Fowler' that came to me with the jartier. But I am a peaceful country gentleman now, and keep pigeons, not hawks."
"But you have your swan—or swans perhaps?" observed Laurent, thinking of his crest.
L'Oiseleur looked surprised for a moment; then he smiled. "Ah, I see. Yes, we bear seven on the coat. That is where the name of Sessignes comes from—Sept-Cygnes. There are wild ones in the river sometimes. But I hope you will see them for yourself."
Why, when he spoke of his home, did his face seem, ever so little, to cloud? It struck Laurent that his good spirits, though evidently unassumed, did not go very deep. Perhaps he had terrible memories from childhood? He stole a glance at his profile—strangely sensitive, for all its vigour and resolution. But, puzzling or no, he was more attractive than ever.
Peste! here was that Mme de Morsan back again, on the arm of her cavalier, and her voice saying, "My dear Aymar, I want to hear everything Her Royal Highness said to you!" and, though they both begged him to remain, Laurent excused himself. He should see M. de la Rocheterie later at the Hotel de Courtomer.
About a quarter of an hour later he drifted past the room again on his way out. It was empty now, so his glance, reminiscently, went clear to the other end. But it was not quite empty, for the couple were there still, standing under the lamp. And, thought M. de Courtomer with all the worldly experience of four-and-twenty, as Mme de Morsan's languorous expression and half-mocking smile smote themselves into his perceptions, "if ever a woman was set on a man, she is on him!" But he hesitated to add that the reverse was true, for L'Oiseleur was undisguisedly frowning at her with that peculiarly straight gaze he had when he was angry—as witnessed by Laurent in his own dining-room across the Channel. Unless, of course, it was a lovers' quarrel. They made, indeed, a most striking pair—but somehow he did not want . . . How ridiculous for him to assume a critical attitude to the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's affaires de coeur . . . if he had any.