"You must take that cup, Master Edward," said the syndic. "I cannot keep it in conscience. Every time I saw it in the cupboard, I should——" But his sentence was broken in upon, and all discussion stopped, by the entrance of Marton, introducing a stout man in plain travelling-attire, who was a stranger at least to Edward Langdale.
CHAPTER VIII.
The old syndic did not seem to know much more of his visitor than Edward Langdale; but he called him Master Jean Baptiste, and asked him what news from Niort.
"Nothing very good, monsieur," answered the stranger: "half a league more of the Papist lines is finished, and it is hard to get through. It was all done so quick and so quietly, no one knew any thing of it till the day before yesterday, when some troops and a large supply of flour were sent down to Ferriac."
"And where is the king himself?" demanded Clement Tournon, somewhat anxiously.
"He is still at Nantes," replied the visitor. "But I want some talk with you, Mr. Syndic, when I can have it alone; and it must be to-night, too, for I have to go on by to-morrow at daybreak, if I can get a boat."
The old man at once raised a candlestick from the table and led the stranger into another room, while Lucette and Edward remained together.
Now, the most natural thing in the world for a young lad between sixteen and seventeen, and a young girl a year or two younger, when so thrown upon their own resources, would have been to make love, or, at least, to fall into it; and there was also a strong incentive in the gratitude Edward felt for all Lucette's kind nursing and all the interest which Lucette had taken in his illness and recovery. But the truth must be told. They did not make love in any of the many ways in which that article is prepared in any of the kingdoms of the earth. Moreover, they did not fall in love in the least. I am sorry for it; for of all the sweet and charming things which this world produces, that which is scornfully called calf's love is the sweetest and most charming. If it has really any thing to do with a calf at all, it is the sweetbread. Oh, that early love! that early love! how pure, and tender, and soft, and timid, and bright, and fragrant, it is! It is the opening of the rose-bud of life, which may in after-times display warmer colors, give forth more intense odor, but loses in delicacy and grace with every petal that unfolds. But, as I have said, the truth must be told. They neither talked of love nor thought of love, although Lucette was very beautiful and believed Edward Langdale to be very handsome. She merely made him describe to her the scenes in which his youth had been spent. She talked to him of his mother, too; and he told her how sweetly that mother had sung, and said to her that Lady Langdale's voice was very like her own; and then he besought her to sing to him again; and she sang to please him; and they fell into thought, and spoke of a thousand things more, in which the reader would take no manner of interest, but which interested them so much that, when Clement Tournon returned, they fancied he had been gone but a few minutes; and he had been absent an hour and a half.
His visitor did not come back with him, for he had taken some supper and retired to rest; but the good old syndic's brow was gloomy, and the news he had received, whatever it was, did not seem to have been very favorable.