"We must shortly be going on our way, Madame," said Harry. "I have a convoy of provisions for the garrison at Breda, and my wagoners are even now growing impatient, I doubt not."
"But, Monsieur, I cannot hear of it. You cannot reach Breda to-night; and suppose those odious men return? You must be tired. Do me the favour to stay here for the night; and we can find a bed for your man also."
"But the wagons?"
"Let them go on to the village; it is but half a league away. They can remain at the inn there. Monsieur, I insist; and besides, I have to write a letter of thanks to my friend Mynheer Grootz."
Harry had no reason for refusing an invitation so cordial. Madame de Vaudrey beamed when he accepted, and, begging to be excused, went off to make arrangements with her servants. Left to himself, Harry looked round the room. It was richly furnished; the tables, cabinets, and chairs were of French make, in highly polished rose-wood; chairs and sofas were covered with crimson velvet, and two cabinets were filled with beautiful porcelain and Dutch china. The pictures upon the walls were all French, except one—a portrait, evidently by a Dutch hand and of a comparatively recent date. It represented a man's head, with dark complexion and wistful melancholy eyes. Harry was attracted to it by a slight resemblance to his father; not in the features, which were quite unlike, but in the curious sadness of the expression. His thoughts were carried back to his old home at Winton St. Mary, and the quiet life with his father there; a mist came before his eyes, and he fell into a reverie, standing thus before the picture.
So rapt was he in recollection that he did not hear the door open behind him, nor turn to see the entrance of Adèle de Vaudrey. For a moment the girl stood in the doorway, holding the handle. An onlooker would have seen a strange shifting of expression upon her face as she paused in hesitation whether to advance or retire, to speak or to remain silent. It was but for a moment; her lips softened, her long lashes drooped down upon her eyes; and closing the door as noiselessly as she had opened it she slipped away.
CHAPTER X
Bluff
A Stroll—A Fair Cook—Love and Duty—An Arrival—General van Santen—Raiders—A Dozen all Told—Rallying the Peasants—Desperate Counsels—The Masqueraders—Strategy—A Ruse de Guerre—Stage Effects—Final Touches—In Sight—At the Door—Ransom—A Turn of the Screw—Phantom Forces—Dilemma—Discretion—Courtesies
"Ah, my dear Monsieur Rochestair, pardon me for leaving you so long. I have been to prepare your room."