"Oh, no!" he replied; "I am older than I appear, Monsieur de Cerons."
And I found that such indeed was the case, but that in him there was the extraordinary combination of high powers of mind and considerable experience, with unpresuming modesty, and all the frank, quick emotions of boyhood. There was something fine and noble, too, in the demeanour of the father to the son and the son to the father. The duke felt all the eager apprehensions and tender anxiety for the young prince that he had felt when he was a boy, flew always to his succour in the battle-field, and seemed to feel unwilling to yield the affectionate privilege of guiding, guarding, and defending his boy; but, at the same time, he was aware and proud of his son's high qualities, had every confidence in his mind and judgment, and treated his opinions with that respect which ensured the respect of others. The son, on his part, though well aware of his own capability of directing and defending himself, ever showed the deepest gratitude for his father's tenderness, and reverence for his authority and advice.
Not long after our conversation had begun, there were some steps heard in the hall, and the voice of the Duke of Montpensier was heard exclaiming, "Where are you, Francis? Where is Monsieur de Cerons?"
In another moment the duke entered the room, before his son could go to meet him. He was accompanied by Martigue, who entered the little room with him, and by several others, who remained behind in the supper-room.
The moment he entered, Martigue seized me roughly by the collar on both sides of my buff coat, and gave me a little but friendly shake, exclaiming, "You young scoundrel, you owe me double ransom, I swear." And, as he spoke, the old soldier looked me over from head to foot with the eye of a connoisseur, as if calculating what portion of strength there was in my limbs.
"Upon my honour, Monsieur de Martigue," I replied, "I think I do; for you have certainly once spared my life and once saved it."
"You are honest, you are honest!" replied Martigue, in the same tone: "but here I and Monsieur de Montpensier have been quarrelling for you. He says he will keep you here till your wounds are whole, to try if he cannot cure you of Calvinism, or, at all events, teach you to serve the king in another way than fighting his troops and cutting the throats of his subjects. I want you to be put to ransom directly, in order that you and I may, some day or another before long, have a fair opportunity of trying our right hands; for we have not had it out yet, seeing that you got off in such a shabby way this morning by shooting my horse."
"I could not help it, Monsieur de Martigue," I replied, "or I would not have done it. I was in the midst of your people; and if I had not taken that moment to escape, I must have surrendered to them, even if I had got the better of you. However, I surely made up for it afterward."
"What! in the village?" cried Martigue. "Oh, I never got near you there."
"No," I replied; "after that unfortunate mêlée, I made up my mind that I would surrender to none but you if I could help it, and lay still there, while twenty people passed, till I saw you come up."