Rose then turned to Lieutenant Thornton, saying—
“Monsieur, there is a young man, a sailor, apparently—he says his name is Louis Lebeau—waiting for you under the great chestnut tree at the back of the garden.”
“Louis Lebeau,” repeated our hero, “I never heard the name before, to the best of my recollection; but pray, Rose, say I will join him there in a few minutes. I wish to speak to Saunders, for he had better keep out of the way, provided the sergeant does not inquire after him.”
“Do you think there is anything to fear from this visit, William?” asked Mabel, anxiously, looking into her lover’s face.
“No, Mabel, I do not think there is the slightest cause for apprehension; these kind of visits are common in France; a mere ceremony that must be gone through. Monsieur Plessis has had our papers so carefully prepared, that suspicion cannot be excited.”
By this time they had reached the house, and whilst the females went in, the young man turned back to have a word with Bill.
“I trust, Bill, you did not utter a syllable when that Frenchman spoke to you on the rocks.”
“Not one,” replied Bill; “I gave a kind of grunt, like a well-bred porker, when he feels the knife in him, and then Mounseer stared at me, as if I was a whale or a porpoise sporting over land, and says he, ‘Parley voo, garron;’ by my conscience, I had a mind to give him a flip in the head, for calling me a garron.”
“He did not call you a garron; he, no doubt, said garçon.”
“Well, sir, they are much the same, seeing I don’t know what that word is.”