His old friend and fellow-campaigner does not even ask explanation of it, only observing—
“A very fine mansion it appears—walks, shade trees, arbours, fountains. I had no idea the nuns were so well bestowed. They ought to live happily in such a pretty place. But then, shut up, domineered over, coerced, as I’ve heard they are—ah, liberty! It’s the only thing that makes the world worth living in.”
“Ditto, say I. I echo your sentiment, old fellow, and feel it. If I didn’t I might have been long ago a Benedict, with a millstone around my neck in the shape of a wife, and half a score of smaller ones of the grindstone pattern—in piccaninnies. Instead, I’m free as the breezes, and by the Moll Kelly, intend remaining so!”
The Major winds up the ungallant declaration with a laugh. But this is not echoed by his companion, to whom the subject touched upon is a tender one.
Perceiving it so, Mahon makes a fresh start in the conversation, remarking—
“It’s beginning to feel a bit chilly up here. Suppose we saunter down to the Cercle, and have a game of billiards!”
“If it be all the same to you, Mahon, I’d rather not go there to night.”
“Oh! it’s all the same to me. Let us home, then, and warm up with a tumbler of whisky toddy. There were orders left for the kettle to be kept on the boil. I see you still want cheering, and there’s nothing will do that like a drop of the crather. Allons!” Without resisting, Ryecroft follows his friend down the stairs of the rampart. From the point where they descended the shortest way to the Rue Tintelleries is through a narrow lane not much used, upon which abut only the back walls of gardens, with their gates or doors. One of these, a gaol-like affair, is the entrance to the convent in which Miss Mahon is at school. As they approach it a fiacre is standing in front, as if but lately drawn up to deliver its fare—a traveller. There is a lamp, and by its light, dim nevertheless, they see that luggage is being taken inside. Some one on a visit to the Convent, or returning after absence. Nothing strange in all that; and neither of the two men make remark upon it, but keep on.
Just however, as they are passing the back, about to drive off again, Captain Ryecroft, looking towards the door still ajar, sees a face inside it which causes him to start.
“What is it?” asks the Major, who feels the spasmodic movement—the two walking arm-in-arm.