"You are mistaken. I understand what has disturbed the house, and I want to ride with you."
"It will be hard for a horseman accustomed to avenues."
"It will suit me perfectly."
It did not suit me at all, but he took my coldness with entire courtesy.
"Have you breakfasted, monsieur?"
"I had my usual slice of bread and cup of water before rising," he answered.
Again I led on the weary trail to my house. Abbé Edgeworth galloped well, keeping beside me where there was room, or riding behind where there was not. The air blew soft, and great shadow clouds ran in an upper current across the deepest blueness I had seen in many a day. The sun showed beyond rows of hills.
I bethought myself to ask the priest if he knew anything about Count de Chaumont. He answered very simply and directly that he did; that I might remember Count de Chaumont was mentioned in Mittau. The count, he said, according to common report, had retired with his daughter and his son-in-law to Blois, where he was vigorously rebuilding his ruined chateau of Chaumont.
If my mind had been upon the priest, I should have wondered what he came for. He did not press his message.
"The court is again in exile?" I said, when we could ride abreast.