She pouted at that, with the air of a spoilt little coquette.
"Kisses indeed! I'll teach Mr. Conyers! No, no, Mr. Berrington, sir. It's news I bring you. You remember the young gentleman from France who rode up from the country a day since to see that same Mr. Conyers?"
"Jéhan de Quernais? His pardon! Monsieur le Comte. Oh yes, I recall him very well, since he only left yesterday."
"He was cousin to Mr. Conyers, and had a favour to crave from him?"
"Fie, Mollie, you should not interest yourself with the affairs of gentlemen."
"There's no harm done if I have, this time, Mr. Berrington, sir. Perhaps you know, as well as I, that Mr. Conyers sent him back to his country-house, bidding him wait there a few days for him, and promising to do afterwards all he asked."
Michael nodded, recollecting an annoyance that Morry should send this dainty Breton gentleman back to Langton, where Mistress Gabrielle dwelt alone, save for the chaperonage of old Nurse Bond.
"They sent him away," nodded Mollie. "But, poor gentleman, they mean to play a scurvy trick on him from what Mr. Conyers cried, laughing, to that ugly Frenchman just now. They'll play him false, and leave him in the country, whilst they go back to Brittany to do what Moosoo Trouet and the black Revolution want, and from what the pretty young gentleman begged Mr. Conyers to save them."
Michael was frowning now, his cheeks pale and grey eyes stern.
"Where learnt you this, girl?" he rapped out imperiously.