"Nay, nay, sir," said the other, in a kindly tone: "you are reserved for better things, I trust. But the wicket is open. You had better pass through, lest any people should come."
The syndic and his young companion passed out into the darkness; but Clement Tournon's steps became so feeble as they crossed the drawbridge that Edward proposed to sit down and rest a while upon the same stone where he had sat in the morning; and there, to amuse his mind for the time, he spoke of his last visit to the city, and even, under shadow of the night, alluded to Lucette.
"Ah, dear child!" said the old man. "I heard that she had reached safely the care of the Duc de Rohan, for he wrote to me. But such a letter! I could not comprehend it at all. It was full of heat and anger about something,—I know not what; for there has been no means of inquiring since. He surely would not have had me keep her in Rochelle to suffer as we have suffered; but yet he seemed displeased that I had sent her away."
"He knew not all the circumstances," answered Edward; "and these great men are impetuous. Have you heard from her?"
"Not a word," said the syndic, with a sigh. "And yet God knows I loved her as a father."
"And she loved you," said Edward; "but it was some months ere she could possibly write, and since then Rochelle has been strictly blockaded."
"Ah, Edward Langdale," said the old man, in a sad tone, "the young soon forget. Joys and pleasures and the freshness of all things around them wipe away the memories of all early affections. And it is well it should be so. Old people forget too; but the sponge that blots out their remembrance is filled with bitterness and gall and decay."
Edward felt that Clement Tournon was doing injustice to Lucette; yet the words were painful to him to hear, and he changed the subject, trying to converse upon indifferent things, but with his mind still recurring to the question, "Can Lucette forget so easily?"
At the end of some half-hour he said, "Let us try now, sir, to reach the outposts. But first take some more of this cordial. Remember what we have at stake."
The old man rose; but he was still very feeble, and he stumbled amongst the low bushes at the end of the bridge. Immediately there was a call from the walls above of "Who goes there?" and the next instant a shot from a musket passed close by. Another succeeded, but went more wide; and, hurrying forward Clement Tournon, Edward put as much space between them and the walls as possible, saying, in a light tone, "Hard to be shot at by our friends. I trust that it is an omen we shall be well received by our enemies."