A child to love and protect, appealing mutely to the manhood of a man, and showing nothing of a resolute will and courage hidden away in the young heart.
Somehow, as he looked at her, Morice Conyers felt ashamed and guilty.
He had come to Brittany to cry "Death to the aristocrats!"
The thought was as ugly as it was persistent, so that he only half heard the cordial welcome of Madame de Quernais herself.
Madame was of the old régime, yet, if her language savoured of a bygone generation, the sentiments were none the less sincere.
She was glad, most glad, to welcome her nephew—the son of her dear sister, Marie. But it is not wise for a man to stand, even to receive a welcome—if it be a long one—in dripping clothes.
Monsieur le Marquis de Varenac was conducted in all haste to the room of Count Jéhan, whither Guillaume accompanied him to offer his services as valet.
A suit of the young Count's fitted the new-comer admirably. He looked a different being, when, an hour later, he descended the grand staircase into the salon.
In the picturesque costume of the eighteenth century a man must needs be singularly unendowed to appear ugly.
Nature had been kind to Morice Conyers. If there were lines of weakness about the sensitive mouth, and a wavering expression in the fine blue eyes, he nevertheless presented a handsome figure as he bowed over the hands of his aunt and cousin.