The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

I EXPECTED nothing less than to be taken at once to the Carmelite convent with which I had been threatened. I was therefore agreeably surprised when, on being led to the courtyard I found all my uncle's servants assembled, and his own travelling carriage waiting, with my aunt already seated in it. There were three vacant places, one of which I was desired to take, while my uncle placed himself in the other, and my aunt's gentlewoman took the fourth. There was a great deal of running back and forth for small packages which had been forgotten, a great deal of ordering and counter-ordering, of pulling at straps and examining of buckles; but at last all was ready, and we set out. My aunt had not spoken to me at all, but as we passed a fine house which was being newly repaired and decorated she broke out with—

"And to think, ungrateful girl, that all that might have been yours, and you must throw it all away for a whim!"

I made no answer, for there was nothing to be said.

"There is no use in talking further on that matter, madame," said my uncle. "Vevette has made her decision, and she must abide the consequences. Henceforth she will have no choice as to what she will do. All will be decided for her, and it is possible she may come to regret Monsieur de Luynes."

"That may well be, my uncle, since Monsieur de Luynes was a true friend, who did not expect to gain any hidden treasures by his kindness," I answered. "But I shall never regret having acted honorably by him, whatever happens."

My uncle bit his lip, as well he might, and I saw the waiting-woman look out of the window to hide a smile. She knew all about my uncle's Journey to Normandy, and, like others of her class, she enjoyed a hit at her betters.

"Be silent!" said my uncle sternly. "Nobody wishes to hear the sound of your voice. Speak only when you are spoken to."

I obeyed, and, indeed, I had no inclination to talk. The morning was beautiful, and the spring was just coming on, and, forlorn as it looked, I was delighted to see the open country once more, and to breathe an air not poisoned with the thousand and one smells—not to use a stronger word—of Paris. The king could indeed crush and impoverish his poor people to maintain his armies and his mistresses, but he could not hinder the wild flowers from blooming nor the birds from singing. My spirits rose insensibly, and I more than once caught myself on the point of breaking out into a song.

My uncle sat back in the corner and said nothing. My aunt kept up a perpetual prattle with Susanne, now bewailing her banishment from Paris and the court, now remarking upon this or that fine lady, and listening to the tittle-tattle in which Susanne was a proficient.

At last my uncle said he would ride on horseback a while, so his groom was called up with the spare horse, and we women were left to ourselves. Then my aunt fell upon me, and such a rating as she gave me! I have heard English women scold, but I never heard any fishwoman equal my elegant, double-refined aunt, Madame de Fayrolles. She worked herself up into such a passion that she told a good deal more than she meant, and thus I learned that my Lord Stanton had returned a very short and sharp answer to Monsieur de Fayrolles' letter, absolutely refusing to let him have any of the property intrusted to him, and requiring that I should at once return to England.