"Ah! yes, Monsieur Pembroke. A member of the household?"
"No—a friend."
"I make a mistake," quickly interposed the traveller, "Pardon. I am come from Coventry, Monsieur Pembroke, in an everlasting an eternal stage, a monster of a carriage, monsieur. It is only a few days since that I arrive from France."
"Ah, France!" exclaimed Tom, recalling that only a little while before he and Dan had been dreaming of that magic country. And here was a person who actually lived in France, who had just come from there, who extraordinarily chose to leave that delightful land for the Inn at the Red Oak in mid-winter.
"France," he repeated; "all my life, sir, I have been longing to go there."
"So?" said the Marquis, raising his white eyebrows with interest. "You love ma belle patrie, eh? Qui Sait?—you will perhaps some day go there. You have interests, friends in my country?"
"No, none," Tom answered. "I wish I had. You come from Paris, sir?"
"Mais oui."
For some time they chatted in such fashion, the Marquis answering Tom's many questions with characteristic French politeness, but turning ever and anon a pathetic glance toward the door through which Dan and Nancy had disappeared. It was with undisguised satisfaction that he greeted young Frost when he returned to announce that supper was ready.
"I famish!" the old gentleman exclaimed. "I have dined to-day on a biscuit and a glass of water."