"All that I know," answered Jean Charost; "and I will give you, too, some papers which, perhaps, may tell you more. There are some jewels, too, which belong to you--"
"See," said Agnes, interrupting him, as if her mind had been absent, "the sun is half way down behind the edge of the earth. Had we not better go back to the castle? How gloriously he lights up the edges of the clouds, changing the dark gray into crimson and gold. I have often thought that love does the like; and when you and our dear mother are with me, I feel that it is so; for things that would be otherwise dark and sad seem then to become bright and sparkle. Even that which made me weep this morning has lost its heaviness, and as it was to be, I am glad that it is over."
"Will you never repent, my Agnes?" asked Jean Charost, with a voice not altogether free from emotion. "Of this Monsieur De Brives I know nothing but by report, yet he seemed to me one well calculated to win favor--and perhaps to deserve it."
"What is he to me?" asked Agnes, almost impatiently. "A mere stranger. Shall I ever repent? oh, never--never!"
"But you must marry some one nearly as much a stranger to you as he is," replied Jean Charost.
She only shook her head sadly, again answering, "Never!"
Jean Charost was silent for a moment; and then rising, they returned to the castle with nothing said of all that might have been said.
CHAPTER XLIII.
There was a great change in Agnes, and Madame De Brecy remarked it immediately. Hers was an earnest, though a cheerful spirit, and when she was thoughtful, those who knew her well might be sure she was debating something with herself, examining some course of action, trying some thought or feeling before the tribunal of her own heart. All that night, and all the following morning, she was very thoughtful. Her gayety seemed gone, and though she could both listen and converse, yet at the least pause she fell back into a revery again.
Jean Charost, too, was a good deal changed, at least toward Agnes, and the mother's eye marked it with very varied feelings. His manner was more tender, his language more glowing; there was a spirit in his words which had never been there before. He, too, was often very thoughtful; but Jean Charost had other motives for thought besides those connected with Agnes. Early on the morning of the day following the incidents lately detailed, he sent a man up to the watch-tower with others to keep his eye on the valley of the Cher, and Madame De Brecy remarked that the soldiers who had remained at St. Florent were no longer scattered about, either amusing themselves in the village, or sporting in the court-yard, but were gathered together, all in busy occupation, some cleaning and rubbing down their horses, some polishing armor, or sharpening swords and lances, some skillfully making arrows or quarrels for the crossbow. She refrained from asking any questions till after the mid-day meal; but it was hardly over when the horn of the watcher upon the tower was winded loudly, and De Brecy, springing up from the table, ran up the stairs himself, as if on some notice of danger. There were several of the chief persons of his little band still around the board; but none of them moved or showed any sign of anxiety, and, in truth, they had been so long inured to hourly peril that danger had lost its excitement for them.