She seemed not to see or to feel that there was any change in me; the endearing names which we had used towards each other in youth were still employed; the terms of love and deep affection were nothing new to us, and nothing strange; and while I called her dear Louise--my own Louise--my sweet, dear girl, and every name expressive of the fondest affection, it seemed all quite natural, and she murmured in reply, "Dear, dear Henry, how glad I am to see you again!"
I may own it, for it was all harmless and pure, my lips were pressed on hers more than once, and her hand remained clasped in mine, while her head leaned upon my bosom. The casque I had laid aside at my first entrance; the iron cuirass soon became a load to me, and I threw it off also; and, smiling at me as I did so, she said, "Ah, Henry, you now look more as you did at Blancford."
I sat down beside her on the ground, near the fire, and chafed her hand, which was still cold, though not so intensely so as before, and in about an hour she was nearly well again. It seemed to me, however, that, as she recovered from the effects of the cold, she became somewhat thoughtful, and she asked we many questions about the adventures of that night--whether I had seen her father, and what he had said.
I told her all exactly as it had happened; but still she seemed anxious, and I said, "It will be easily explained, dear Louise, and your father will understand in a moment that it was impossible to return when the alarm was once given."
"I am afraid," she said, hesitating, "I am afraid that the baroness will say everything that is cutting and unkind. I know what she will say quite well. She will say that I came away with you willingly enough, for she used always to speak in that manner at Blancford after you went, and would never hear me mention your name, or look at all thoughtful, without saying she was sure I wished to go and join you. She thus tried very much to make my father angry with me; but still he was not angry."
"And did you ever wish to come and join me, Louise!" I said.
There was a slight blush came into her cheek, but she answered at once, "I wished every day that you were there, Henry; for I have never had a happy hour since you were gone. We could not have been so happy, indeed, as we used to be, but still we might have had a few sweet hours together; but now I am afraid--though I am sure I do not know what harm there is in being with you--she will say everything that is unkind if she finds that I am away with you, alone, for many days."
"Do not be afraid, sweetest," I replied; "To-morrow we shall arrive at our own camp, where you will find good Dame Marguelette and Monsieur la Tour. Under their protection no one can say anything; and for the night, dearest Louise, you shall be under mine, and let the man who dare say that I do not protect you rightly."
"Oh, that you will, that you will," she said; "I have not the least fear, Henry, with you; and I am sure, if good Monsieur la Tour be there, I shall like being with you both much better than being near the baroness."
Our conversation was interrupted by some one knocking at the door; and, bidding him come in, Moric Endem presented himself, accompanied by Andriot and a good farmer of the country, whose face was somewhat pale, rather with surprise than fear, and who looked round the apartment with an inquiring glance, as if asking what he was to meet with next. They were all loaded with different sorts of provisions, however, and it soon appeared that Moric, well knowing that there must be some farmhouse at not many miles' distance from the barn, had set out in search of one with Andriot, and a sufficient number of the soldiery to give force to his entreaties for hospitality.