Edward could not refrain from turning round and gazing in his face with a look of most profound surprise; but the prince made no further remark, and, after pulling in their horses while one of the servants dismounted and opened the gates they rode up to the large arched door of the house. A heavy bell hanging outside soon brought forth an old domestic, dressed in dark gray, who gazed earnestly first at Soubise and then at Edward, both of whom had sprung to the ground while he was opening the door. At first he evidently recognised neither; but a moment after the light of honest satisfaction brightened his countenance, and, holding forth his hand to Edward, he exclaimed, "Oh, Master Ned, how glad I am to see you, and how glad the doctor will be! He has been looking for you for months. But he is not at home now, and may not come back for an hour. But come in; come in. Every thing is ready for you. Your old room is just as you left it,—not a book moved, nor a gun, nor a fishing-rod: only when I went in to-day to dust the things, I saw the ink had dried up in the horn, and was going to put in fresh this very day."
Edward shook the old man warmly by the hand; and, turning to the Prince de Soubise, he said, "If I understood you right, sir, you came to visit Dr. Winthorne. He is out, the servant says; but I have interest enough in this house to invite you to enter till his return. He will be back in an hour, and happy, I am sure, to entertain you. But, knowing my old preceptor's habits well, allow me to hint that it will be necessary to send your attendants into the village, as I shall send my servant; for, being a clergyman, he objects to have in his house what he calls 'swash-buckler serving-men;' and his rule apply to all, however high the quality of his guests."
Soubise smiled; and, ushering him into the library, Edward proceeded, amidst the somewhat garrulous joy of the old footman, to direct Pierrot to take the other men down to the village inn, to tell the host there to attend on them well, "for Master Ned's sake," and then to return as soon as might be with his saddle-bags.
The prince merely ordered his baggage to be brought up, directing his men to take care of themselves, and seeming fully satisfied that he would be a welcome guest. He took some books from the shelves of the library, examined them cursorily, and put them back, saying, "The good doctor seems to have improved much in worldly matters. He has attained, apparently, the state he always desired,—competency, and enough to have a good library. Can any one imagine a man more happy?"
"Perhaps not," said Edward, gravely. "I believe circumscribed desires and moderate fortunes attain the height of human felicity."
"Not so," said Soubise. "I believe every human life must be looked at as an aggregate; and skilful would be the calculator who could reduce to an exact sum how much joy and how much sorrow are required to equivale a given portion of calm and unimpassioned existence. All these things are as the individual views them. We have nothing in this life by which to measure the real value of any object but our own tastes. You may like a pearl better than a diamond; I may esteem the flashing lustre of the one more than the calm serenity of the other. That man is only happy who obtains what he really desires. But here come our men, I see, with the baggage."
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Prince de Soubise stood at the window of the library of Applethorpe alone; for Edward had made an excuse to leave him, not thinking himself bound to play the host in a house which was not his, nor to act as the entertainer of a man whom he had some good cause, as he thought, to dislike. Soubise was then past forty, however, and he did not—as indeed who does in middle life?—look upon trifles with the serious view which one takes of them in earlier years. "Hasty and quick in quarrel" applies to small as well as great things; and Heaven knows how much patience we acquire each day by the mere habit of endurance. He received the young man's apology in good part, then; and, while Edward Langdale went to speak to every old servant and then to change his travel-stained dress, he stood, as I have said, at the window and gazed forth upon a scene to be viewed in no other country under the sky,—a home scene of English life. It is probably of no age, of no time; for it is an impress of the mind and character of the people. But I must not dwell upon it. The chapter of descriptions has gone by. Soubise gazed out, compared that which was before his eyes with that on which they might have rested in his own country, admired what he saw, and perhaps, in the desponding mood which certainly then affected him, felt sorry that France had not so calm, so peaceful, and so happy a look as an English country-village.
After he had continued gazing for some ten minutes, upon the road before him appeared an elderly man upon a fine stout horse, with clerical hat and cassock turned up, and a servant following him on a still better beast. They both rode fast; and, though the first sat his steed somewhat after the fashion of a sack of wheat, it was clear that the saddle was quite familiar to him, and the slouching shoulders and negligent air were more the consequences of perfect ease and habit than of awkwardness. The servant pulled back the gate: his master dashed through, and in a moment after Dr. Winthorne was at the door.