The arrival of Monsieur Souverain added a new element of cheerfulness to our little party: he was so thoroughly French—that is, so ignorant of other habits than French ones, so naïvely persuaded of their superiority to all others, so keenly alive to any point of difference, and so openly astonished when he discovered any, always wondering at the reason for this want of similarity—that he was a perpetual source of interest to our lady visitors. He could not speak English, but he always addressed Aunt Mary in his voluble and rapid Parisian French, and she was all smiles, and appeared to enjoy extremely his run of anecdotes about French celebrities she had never heard of. Now and then she let fall a word or sometimes a phrase totally irrelevant to what he had been saying, but which in his turn he politely pretended to appreciate, although he had not understood a single syllable of it. It was most amusing to see them walking side by side, evidently enjoying each other's society and animated conversation; only we remarked that they were careful to remain well out of profane hearing by keeping a good deal in front of us, or else loitering behind.
We had been awaiting M. Souverain for some days, no date having been fixed, when one morning our attention was aroused by loud and prolonged shouts coming from that part of the road which affords a view of Innistrynich, before descending to the bay. With the help of his telescope, my husband soon discovered a small, spare human form, now waving a pocket-handkerchief, and now making a speaking-trumpet of both hands to carry its appeal as far as the island. "It must be M. Souverain," Gilbert said, as he sent a shout of welcome, and ran to the pier to loosen the boat and row it across the bay.
He had scarcely landed our visitor when enthusiastic ejaculations met our ears: "Mais c'est le Paradis terrestre ici!" "Quel pays de rêve!" "Quel séjour enchanteur!" Then, with a change of tone habitual to him, and a little sarcastic: "Yes, but as difficult to find as dream-land; I thought I should have to turn back to France without meeting with you, for no one seemed to be aware of the existence of the 'lac Ave' any more than of 'Ineestreeneeche,' and I was beginning to suspect your descriptions to have been purely imaginary, when un trait de lumière illuminated my brain. I bought a map of Scotland, and without troubling myself any longer with the impossible pronunciation of impossible names, I stuck a pin on the spot of the map that I wanted to reach and showed it either to a railway employé or to a matelot, and I was sure to hear 'All right,'—I have learnt that at least. But upon my life, to this day I can't explain why no one seemed to understand me, even at Inverary, at the hotel. I asked: 'Quel chemin doit on prendre pour aller chez Monsieur Amertone, dans l'île d'Ineestreeneeche sur le lac Ave?' That was quite plain, was not it?… Well, they only shook their heads till I gave them the address you had written for me, then of course they came out with 'All right,' and a good deal besides which was of no consequence to me, and at last I am here 'all right.' But why on earth do they spell Londres, London; Glascow, Glasgow; and Cantorbéry, Canterbury? It is exceedingly puzzling to strangers." My husband was greatly tickled, and rather encouraged this flow of impressions; he thought it extremely interesting in a cultivated and intelligent man who was far from untravelled, for he had been in Spain, Belgium, Germany, Italy, and Algeria, and who still evinced a childlike wonder at every unfamiliar object. For instance, he would say: "Now, Mr. Hamerton, I am sure you can't justify this queer custom in English hotels, of putting on the table a roast of eight pounds' weight, at least, or a whole cheese. I can't eat all that, then why serve it me?… And why also those immense washing-basins? They are so cumbersome and heavy that it is almost as much as I can achieve to empty them: I don't take a bath in them, I take it in a baignoire, and I have not to empty it."
The conversation, however, often ran on serious subjects, and M. Souverain heard with deep interest from my husband an account of his plans, both literary and artistic, and said once: "If you intend to devote your life to painting Highland scenery, and since your wife loves this admirable island as much as you do, why should not you buy it and secure the benefit of the improvements you are carrying on? It is somewhat solitary at times, no doubt, but as you will be obliged to go to London and Paris every year at least, you might arrange to do so in winter and enjoy society there, and a change at the same time. You tell me that your property yields at present but a very poor income,—why not sell it, or part of it, since it has no attraction for you, and live here, on your own property, free of rent?"
Gilbert himself had entertained the idea, and had developed it to me with flattering possibilities and speculations, but I was already beginning to fear that our present existence was too exquisite to last. We had received bad news from Uncle Thomas about the rents; the mill was not let, and would require a heavy outlay before it could find a tenant; the machinery was old, out-of-date, and would have to be replaced by new with the modern improvements, and the cottages surrounding the mill were likely to remain tenantless so long as the mill did not work, or the rents be but irregularly forthcoming. In fact, our income was already insufficient, and my husband was seriously considering whether he ought to borrow in order to set up the mill again, or whether it would be more profitable to sell the property and draw upon the capital as we required it, till he could sell his pictures. At last he decided to consult his uncle, who was a prudent man of business, and had a long experience as landed proprietor. After due consideration Mr. T. Hamerton advised him to go to the necessary expense for repairs to the mill.
Meanwhile M. Souverain was growing more enchanted with Loch Awe day by day, and could not bear the idea that we might be turned out of Innistrynich some day by a new owner (for the present one was getting old, and had said that at the end of our lease he would put it up for sale), so he tempted my husband by the almost irresistible offer of a third of the purchase money, in consideration of having two rooms reserved for himself and his wife—my godmother—during two of the summer months. But Aunt Mary's secret desire—and perhaps hope—of seeing us established at a future time nearer to herself, suggested some very weighty considerations against the project. "When your child or maybe children grow up and have to attend school, will you resign yourselves to send them so far as will be inevitable if you are still here?" she said; "and will your healths be able to stand the severity of the climate when you are no longer so young? The distance from a doctor is another serious affair in case of sickness, and I myself, as well as Eugénie's parents, am on the downward course, and may soon be deprived of the possibility of undertaking so fatiguing a journey." All this had been foreseen by her nephew, of course, but his attachment to the place was such that he found ready answers to all objections. "Our children would be educated at home—the climate, though damp, was not more severe or unhealthy than the average—doctors were of no good, generally speaking—and we might visit our relations more frequently in case they were unable to come to us."
So the question remained open.
Gilbert, thinking it desirable to give his guests a more extensive acquaintance with the surrounding country than his boats could afford, proposed to take a carriage, which would be ferried from Port Sonachan to the other side of the lake, after which we might drive as much as possible along the shores till we reached Ardhonnel Castle. If we arrived early we would visit the ruins and the island; if too late, it would be reserved for the following morning, as we intended to spend the night at the inn, and to resume our drive in time to be back at Innistrynich for dinner.
We started merrily,—Aunt Mary, Anne Hamerton, M. Souverain, my husband, myself, and baby; for our guests kindly insisted upon my being one of the party, in spite of my small encumbrance, which I could not leave behind. I did my best to be excused, but they were unanimous in declaring that they would not go if I stayed.
"You need not walk unless you like," they said, "for there will always be the carriage, the boat, or the inn for you."