Rose blushed, but laughing, said—
“You will have Mademoiselle Julia to chat with. She is so pretty and lively, that you cannot be dull where she is.”
“Did you hear anything at Havre yesterday, Rose,” questioned our hero, as they opened the shutters to admit the light, which before only entered from loopholes left in the shutters, “anything about the English prisoners taken on board the Vengeance, I mean?”
“Yes, monsieur; my sister told me they had been marched to Rouen, and that the Commander and the young officer with him were to be sent to Paris.”
“To Paris!” repeated Lieutenant Thornton, in a tone of regret; “I am sorry for that. I fear they will endure a long captivity.”
Our hero now looked round the noble saloon, full sixty feet in length, and hung round with pictures in antique frames.
“That is, I suppose, the late Duke de Coulancourt?” he inquired, looking at a half-length portrait, suspended over the lofty white marble chimney-piece.
“Yes, monsieur, that is his picture; he was a young man when that was taken, in the Royal Guards of Louis XVI. There, on the wall opposite, is his grandfather, who commanded the famous Musketeers. I will go now, monsieur, because your letter must be enclosed, and sent from Havre before night.”
“I am giving you and all your family a great deal of trouble, and they and you may incur some risk from protecting me and my comrade.”
“Not at all, monsieur; especially as Captain Gaudet has got plenty of employment. He is going to repair the Vengeance, and he thinks of nothing else. He fancies also that you and your man were either drowned or burned in the vessel; for my brother, who was with my mother this morning, says he does not seem to trouble about anything but the repairs of the craft.”