“Monsieur understands English,” said the boy, “if you will speak slowly. Is it not so?”
The priest smiled, and showed a good set of white teeth. “Yes,” he said in a stumbling voice. “Vairy, vairy slow.”
“You—have—come—for—Eugene, I suppose,” said the sergeant spasmodically.
“I comprehand parfaitement,” returned the priest. “It ees true, I come to seek heem.”
“It is getting late now,” said Mrs. Hardy with a glance at the clock, “and Eugene will be too much fatigued to sleep. Suppose we put off our business conversation till the morning, and talk of other things.”
The priest turned his gentle face toward his hostess. He had not understood what she said.
Eugene put her sentences into liquid French for him; and he made a gesture of assent, and said in laborious English, “Madame has right.”
“Ah, no,” said Eugene; “I could not sleep. With Mrs. Hardy’s permission, let us talk a long, long time. Tell me of France, dear monsieur le curé. Are you still in the little village below the château?”
“Steel there, excep’ when I voyage in Amérique,” said the priest in peaceful amusement. “Nevair have I voyage before.”
“And my uncle received my letter?” said Eugene.