“She grows, my dear Marquis—she grows every minute of the day and wakes up a new woman every morning,” said Colville, in a confidential aside, and he went forward to meet Loo with his accustomed laugh of good-fellowship. He whom the world calls a good fellow is never a wise man.
Barebone walked toward the gate without joining in the talk of his companions. He was thoughtful and uneasy. He had come to say good-bye and nothing else. He was wondering if he had really meant what he had said.
“Come,” interrupted Colville’s smooth voice. “We must get into the saddle and begone. I was just telling Monsieur and Mademoiselle Juliette, that any man might be tempted to linger at Gemosac until the active years of a lifetime rolled by.”
The Marquis made the needful reply; hoping that he might yet live to see Gemosac—and not only Gemosac, but a hundred châteaux like it—reawakened to their ancient glory, and thrown open to welcome the restorer of their fallen fortunes.
Colville looked from one to the other, and then, with his foot in the stirrup, turned to look at Juliette, who had followed them to the gate.
“And mademoiselle,” he said; “will she wish us good luck, also? Alas! those times are gone when we could have asked for her ribbon to wear, and to fight for between ourselves when we are tired and cross at the end of a journey. Come, Barchone—into the saddle.”
They waited, both looking at Juliette; for she had not spoken.
“I wish you good luck,” she said, at length, patting the neck of Colville’s horse, her face wearing a little mystic smile.
Thus they departed, at sunset, on a journey of which old men will still talk in certain parts of France. Here and there, in the Angoumois, in Guienne, in the Vendée, and in the western parts of Brittany, the student of forgotten history may find an old priest who will still persist in dividing France into the ancient provinces, and will tell how Hope rode through the Royalist country when he himself was busy at his first cure.
The journey lasted nearly two months, and before they passed north of the Loire at Nantes and quitted the wine country, the vintage was over.