"Prince, where is the tavern's light that cheers?
Where is La Place with its musketeers,
Golden nights and the May-time breeze?
And where are the belles of the balconies?"
Ah, the golden nights, indeed! What were they doing yonder in Paris? Were they all alive, the good lads in his company? And how went the war with Spain? Would the ladies sometimes recall him in the tennis courts? With a sigh he dipped the quill in the inkhorn and went on. The truth is, the poet was homesick. But he was not alone in this affliction.
Breton was sitting by the port-hole in his master's berthroom. He was reading from his favorite book. Time after time he would look toward the bunk where the Chevalier lay dozing. Finally he closed the book and rose to gaze out upon the sea. In fancy he could see the hills of Périgny. The snow had left them by now. They were green and soft, rolling eastward as far as the eye could see. Old Martin's daughter was with the kine in the meadows. The shepherd dog was rolling in the grass at her feet. Was she thinking of Breton, who was on his way to a strange land, who had left her with never a good by to dull the edge of separation? He sobbed noiselessly. The book slipped from his fingers to the floor, and the noise of it brought the Chevalier out of his gentle dreaming.
"Is it you, lad?"
"Yes, Monsieur Paul," swallowing desperately.
"What is the matter?"
"I was thinking how the snow has left the hills of Périgny. I can see my uncle puttering in the gardens at the château. Do you remember the lilacs which grew by the western gates? They will soon be filling the park with fragrance. Monsieur will forgive me for recalling?"
"Yes; for I was there in my dreams, lad. I was fishing for those yellow perch by the poplars, and you were baiting my hooks."
"Was I, Monsieur?" joyfully. "My mother used to tell me that it was a sign of good luck to dream of fishing. Was the water clear?"
"As clear as Monsieur le Cure's emerald. Do you remember how he used to twist it round and round when he visited the château? It was a fine ring. The Duchesse d'Aiguillon gave it to him, so he used to tell us. 'Twas she who founded the Hôtel Dieu at Quebec, where we are going."