"Not Ham?" cried the father, bursting into a great laugh. "Not Ham Belfort, Jacques?"
I laughed back, nodding. "Just Ham, father!"
I never saw Father L'Homme-Dieu so amused. He struck his hands together, and leaned back in his chair, repeating over and over, "Ham Belfort! Cousin of the Marquis de Ste. Valerie! Ham Belfort! Is it possible?"
The young nobleman looked from one to the other of us curiously.
"But what?" he asked. "Ham! c'est-à-dire, jambon, n'est-ce pas?"
"It is also a Biblical name, marquis!" said Father L'Homme-Dieu. "I must ask who taught you your catechism!"
"True! true!" said the marquis, slightly confused. "Sem, Ham, et Japhet, perfectly! and—I have a cousin, it appears, named Jam—I should say, Ham? Will you lead me to him, M. D'Arthenay, that I embrace him?"
"You shall see him!" I said. "I don't think Ham is used to being embraced, but I will leave that to you. I will take you to see him, and to see the graves in the burying-ground, whenever you say."
"But now, at the present time, this instant!" cried Ste. Valerie, springing from his chair. "Here is Father L'Homme-Dieu dying of me, in despair at his morning broken up, his studies destroyed by chatter. Take me with you, D'Arthenay, and show me all things; Ham, also his brothers, and Noë and the Ark, if they find themselves also here. Amazing country! astonishing people!"
So off we went together, he promising Mrs. Sparrow to return in time for dinner, and informing her that she was a sylphide, which caused her to say, "Go along!" in high delight. He had brought a letter to the priest, from an old friend, and was to stay at the house.