"We are a plain-spoken people," answered the young man, "and usually give things the name we think they deserve. The Ouse in many places is a sluggish, muddy stream; and our good ancestors applied the name they judged most appropriate."
"'Tis as well they do," said Soubise, with a sigh. "We in France have a different habit. Our more excitable imaginations take fire at a name, and we are apt to decorate very plain things with fanciful appellations; but this leads to frequent disappointment. Which is the happiest people must depend upon whether it is best in a hard world to see things as they are, or to see them as we would have them."
"We are often forced to see them as they are," replied Edward; "and if we always did so there would be no disappointments."
"Nor much happiness," said Soubise.
Thus conversing, they rode on. But we must pass lightly over the talk with which they enlivened the way, merely observing that Lucette's cousin rose not inconsiderably in Edward's opinion as they went. Nay, more: his manners were so graceful, his thoughts so just, his conversation so varied, that the young Englishman could not but feel pleased with his company and inclined to like himself. Still, in the true English spirit, he said, in his own heart, "Oh, yes, he is very charming now he is in a good humor. The devil is so when he is pleased; but methinks I could conjure forth the horns and hoofs if I were but to tell him who I am."
At length the scenes through which they passed became painfully familiar to Edward's eye,—spots he had known well, cottages he had visited, houses belonging to old friends of his family. The very trees and shrubs and little water-courses seemed like old acquaintances calling back times past and appealing to regret. He grew grave and cold. The chilly feeling which had first fallen upon him not many years before, but which had somewhat passed away during the last few months, returned, and many memories, as ever, brought their long train of sorrows with them.
Not far from Little Barford, a fine sloping lawn came down to the road-side, separated from the highway merely by a thick, well-trimmed hedge broken by some fine groups of trees; and, looking up, a large square house with many windows, and a trim garden terraced and ornamented with urns and statues, could be seen at the distance of a quarter of a mile. There were several men in the grounds engaged in various country-employments, and Edward said, within himself, "He is taking care of the place, at all events."
At the same moment Soubise observed, "That is a fine chateau! Do you know to whom it belongs, and what it is called? It is so long since I was in this part of England that I forget the places."
"That is called Buckley Hall," replied Edward. "It belongs to Sir Richard Langdale."
"How is that?" said Soubise, suddenly, as if something surprised him. But Edward did not answer, and the prince merely said, "Let us pull up for an instant and look at it."