The bird growing now more accustomed to its strange surroundings piped cheerfully the familiar air of the refrain
“Amour a la plus belle
Honneur au plus vaillant.”
“Ah! he sings better than ours ever did,” said Evereld thinking of the bird Ralph had brought from Whinhaven.
“And he is more tractable than a choir boy,” said the old priest laughing. “Does he sing too loud and tire one’s head—it is but to cover his cage and he is as quiet as any mouse.”
After that they drifted into talk about life in rural France, and by the time they reached Lyons Evereld felt that the old man had become quite a friend.
The other passengers scrambled out of the carriage each intent on his own affairs, but the priest helped her courteously with her roll of cloaks.
“Would you mind telling me what is the best and most quiet hotel to go to?” she asked. “I cannot get on any further till nine o’clock to-morrow morning. I am on my way to stay with friends near Clermont-Ferrand.”
“You are over young my child,” he said, “to travel unprotected. But I know it is not in England as with us, the young demoiselles have greater liberty. The best plan will be for you to go to an Hotel close by. As it happens I know the manager and his wife and if you will permit me I will walk with you to the door, and ask them to take good care of you. I think you are like Fifi, not over well-accustomed to travelling.”
“Thank you very much,” said Evereld gratefully. “Now I shall feel safe indeed.”