"M. Rodolph, you are, you must be, one of those beneficent angels sent by the Almighty to do good upon earth, and to rescue poor fallen creatures, like myself, from shame and misery."
"My poor girl," replied Rodolph, with a smile of deep sadness and ineffable kindness, "though still young, I have already deeply suffered. I lost a dear child, who, if living, would now be about your age. Let that explain my deep sympathy with all who suffer, and for yourself particularly, Fleur-de-Marie, or, rather, Marie only. Now, go with Madame Georges, who will shew you the pretty chamber, with its clustering roses and honeysuckle to form your morning bouquets. Yes, Marie, henceforward let that name, simple and sweet as yourself, be your only appellation. Before my departure we will have some talk together, and then I shall quit you, most happy in the knowledge of your full contentment."
Fleur-de-Marie, without one word of reply, gracefully bent her knee, and, before Rodolph could prevent her, gently and respectfully raised his hand to her lips; then rising with an air of modest submission, followed Madame Georges, who eyed her with a profound interest, out of the room.
CHAPTER XI.
MURPHY AND RODOLPH.
Upon quitting the house, Rodolph bent his steps towards the farmyard, where he found the individual who, the preceding evening, disguised as a charcoal-man, had warned him of the arrival of Tom and Sarah. Murphy, which was the name of this personage, was about fifty years of age; his head, nearly bald, was still ornamented with a fringe of light brown hair at each side, which the hand of time had here and there slightly tinged with gray; his face was broad, open, and ruddy, and free from all appearance of hair, except very short whiskers, of a reddish colour, only reaching as low as the tip of the ear, from which it diverged, and stretched itself in a gentle curve across his rubicund cheeks. Spite of his years and embonpoint, Murphy was active and athletic; his countenance, though somewhat phlegmatic, was expressive of great resolution and kindliness of nature; he wore a white neck-handkerchief, a deep waistcoat, and a long black coat, with very wide skirts; his breeches, of an olive green colour, corresponded in material with the gaiters which protected his sturdy legs, without reaching entirely to the knee, but allowing the strings belonging to his upper garment to display themselves in long unstudied bows; in fact, the dress and whole tournure of Murphy exactly accorded with the idea of what in England is styled a "gentleman farmer." Now, the personage we are describing, though an English squire, was no farmer. At the moment of Rodolph's appearance in the yard, Murphy was in the act of depositing, in the pocket of a small travelling caléche, a pair of small pistols he had just been carefully cleaning.
"What the devil are you going to do with those pistols?" inquired Rodolph.
"That is my business, my lord," replied Murphy, descending the carriage steps; "attend to your affairs, and I will mind mine."