“Is that your opinion, sir?” returned the lady, coldly. “My husband was a monarchist. To him Bonaparte was an usurper and a tyrant.”
Sir Francis struggled not to appear put out of countenance. “Damn these French!” he said internally; “you never know where you are with ’em.” Aloud he said: “Your husband was right, madam, from his point of view. He was loyal to his convictions and to his traditions. Every one must respect them and him—no one certainly more than I myself, who am the loyal supporter of my own king. That such a man as your husband should be cut off in the prime of his youth is a calamity to his country,” concluded Sir Francis, feeling that at all events he was safe there.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” said the lady ingenuously.
“Your husband, I say, dying in the first flush of youth—”
“Oh, my husband was not a very young man,” interposed the lady gravely. “In fact, it may be said that he died of old age. He was only a little over seventy, it is true; but he had for several years past been in very infirm health.”
“Zounds, madam, you—you surprise me!” exclaimed Sir Francis, almost losing patience. Reflecting, however, that it was unlikely a wife so youthful should have felt any passionate attachment to a husband so ancient, he plucked up courage; the task of consoling the lady would be by so much the less difficult. She sat there very quietly, with her hands resting one within another in her lap, and her dark eyes sparkling through her veil. Sir Francis conceived a strong desire to see that veil lifted. But he would proceed cautiously.
“You are, then, alone in the world,” he remarked, compassionately. “Probably, however, you may have kinsfolk in England or France who—”
“Indeed, sir, I am very unhappy,” said the lady, with a melancholy simplicity. “Such few relatives as I possess are not, I fear, kindly disposed toward me.”
“Surely they must be very unnatural persons—ahem!” cried Sir Francis, indignantly. “But let me entreat you not to be downcast, my dear madam. Providence sometimes raises up friends to us when we least expect it. If I might speak of myself—”
“Indeed, you are very good,” said the lady softly, and with a little movement of one of her hands that seemed to indicate confidence and gratitude. Sir Francis moved his chair a little nearer. The lady continued: “My husband, you must know, has left me the entire control of his property, which I believe is very large. I think his income was what you would call, in your money, ten thousand pounds—is it not?—every year; but I may be mistaken: I am so stupid in those affairs: at least it was more than three hundred thousand francs.”