“Ah! Madame Linton. How has she been taking it?”
“I’ll tell you after I’ve had something to eat and drink. You forget, Olympe, where I’ve been all the day long—under the roof of a poacher, who, of late otherwise employed, hadn’t so much as a head of game in his house. True, I’ve since made call at an hotel, but you don’t give me credit for my abstemiousness! What have you got to reward me for it?”
“Entrez!” she exclaims, leading him into the dining-room, their dialogue so far having been carried on in the porch. “Voilà!”
He is gratified, though no ways surprised at the set out. He does not need to inquire whence it comes. He, too, knows it is a sacrifice to the rising sun. But he knows also what a sacrifice he will have to make in return for it—one third the estate of Llangorren.
“Well, ma cherie,” he says, as this reflection occurs to him, “we’ll have to pay pretty dear for all this. But I suppose there’s no help for it.”
“None,” she answers with a comprehension of the circumstances—clearer and fuller than his. “We’ve made the contract, and must abide by it. If broken by us, it wouldn’t be a question of property, but life. Neither yours nor mine would be safe for a single hour. Ah monsieur! you little comprehend the power of those gentry, les Jesuites—how sharp their claws, and far reaching!”
“Confound them!” he exclaims, angrily dropping down upon a chair by the table’s side.
He eats ravenously, and drinks like a fish. His day’s work is over, and he can afford the indulgence.
And while they are at supper, he imparts all details of what he has done and heard; among them Miss Linton’s reasons for having put restraint upon the search.
“The old simpleton!” he says, concluding his narration, “she actually believed my cousin to have run away with that captain of Hussars—if she don’t believe it still! Ha, ha, ha. She’ll think differently when she sees that body brought out of the water. It will settle the business!”