“They?” she said, with her prettily arched eyebrows raised high.
“We, I mean,” he answered, quickly, taking her meaning in a flash. “I almost forgot that I was an Englishman. It is my heritage, perhaps, that makes me forget—or yourself. It is so easy and natural to consider one’s self a Frenchman—and so pleasant.”
Marie shuffled with her feet and made a movement of impatience, as if to remind them that they were still far from the business in hand and were merely talking of themselves, which is the beginning of all things—or may be the beginning of the inevitable end.
“But I forgot,” said Barebone, at once. “And it is getting late. Your father has had a slight misfortune. He has sprained his ankle. He is on board my ship, the ship of which I am—I have been—an officer, lying at anchor in the river near here, off the village of Mortagne. I came from Mortagne at your father’s request, with certain messages, for yourself, mademoiselle, and for Marie—if Madame is Marie.”
“Yes,” replied the grim voice in the doorway. “Madame is Marie.”
Loo had turned toward her. It seemed his happy fate to be able to disarm antagonism at the first pass. He looked at Marie and smiled; and slowly, unwillingly, her grim face relaxed.
“Well,” he said, “you are not to expect Monsieur le Marquis to-night, nor yet, for some time to come. For he will go on to Bordeaux, where he can obtain skilled treatment for his injured ankle, and remain there until he can put his foot to the ground. He is comfortable enough on board the ship, which will proceed up the river to-morrow morning to Bordeaux. Monsieur le Marquis also told me to set your mind at rest on another point. He was to have brought with him a guest—”
Loo paused and bowed to Marie, with a gay grace.
“A humble one. But I am not to come to Gemosac just now. I am going, instead, with Monsieur Dormer Colville, to stay at Royan with Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence. It is, I hope, a pleasure deferred. I cannot, it appears, show myself in Bordeaux at present, and I quit the ship to-night. It is some question of myself and my heritage in France, which I do not understand.”
“Is that so?” said Marie. “One can hardly believe it.”