"Di va!" exclaimed her sister. "A good man is not bad because our friends like him. Marry this good Alain, and love him after."
The damsel replied by a pretty grimace.
"Marguerite!" said Mme. de Maufant, with a little frown, "on ne badine pas avec l'amour. Or do you love another perhaps? Ah! malheureuse; art thou still thinking of ce beau guilliard, how did they call him? M. Elliot, I think, the King's page? I hear that he is returned with the King; and—oh, Marguerite!—--"
"I swear to you Rose, I know nothing of M. Elliot—"
As she spoke a low whistle was heard without.
"It is Alain's signal," cried Rose, all in a flutter. "He brings me news from Michael."
So saying Mme. de Maufant moved with a quick step towards the door opening on the back yard, whence the signal-whistle evidently came. Marguerite site still on her tabouret, her head hidden in her shapely white hands.
On reaching the back-door Rose threw a wimple over her head, and carefully undoing the-chain and bar, admitted le Gallais, weary and travel-stained. Taking both her hands the young man gazed in her face with the honest gaze of a loving brother. Then searching in the lining of his doublet he drew out a letter, or rather a packet tied with string, and gave it to her.
"He is well," he said, "but his heart suffers."
"I know it, I know it," sobbed the wife, "but come in, Alain; come in and take some repose."