“I think Rattler the better dog,” said Regnard, coming forward and patting Rattler, who took no manner 231 of notice of Francezka, while Bold overwhelmed her with evidences of affection. “But Bold is better adapted to be a Paris dog. He has a taste for luxury, and instead of being satisfied with a good woolen blanket to sleep on, he will persist in taking his ease on the satin sofa in this saloon. He is a petit maître of a dog. Take him to Paris, brother, by all means—and give me Rattler.”
At this Bold seemed to realize that Regnard was not his friend, and gave him a look of dislike altogether human, turning his back meanwhile with an air of unmistakable contempt. All present laughed at this dialogue between the man and the dog.
“Bold is bound for Paris, then,” said Gaston, “and you will see how he will give up his petit-maître ways and become a seasoned soldier after one campaign.”
Francezka then took her attention long enough from the dog to play some beautiful airs upon the harpsichord. That, if anything, increased Bold’s infatuation for her and recommended him still more highly to his master.
The evening falling, the ladies made ready to depart, after many thanks for their entertainment. The coach was to come for them, but the July evening being inexpressibly sweet, Francezka persuaded Madame Riano to walk the short distance to the château. The arrangement of the walking party scarcely fell out to suit any one. Gaston was obliged to escort Madame Riano, who stalked ahead like a grenadier—never woman had such a stride—with Bellegarde, the most insipid man on the globe, on the other side of her. Francezka was escorted by Regnard Cheverny, whose company she never 232 showed any pleasure in, and myself. She was civil enough to Regnard, but was most pointedly kind to me, partly from good-will to me and partly from ill-will to Regnard. He took it politely and debonairly, as became a gentleman. But I saw in his eye that he did not thereby for one moment abandon his resolute pursuit of Francezka Capello. Bold accompanied us, and had to be dragged, yelping, from Francezka’s side, when we returned home. This was four days before we left.
The last evening we spent as we had spent many others, at the château of Capello. It seemed to me a momentous parting between Francezka and Gaston Cheverny. Her attitude to him now was that of a young sovereign, who airily bids her lover wait until she is ready to marry him; but Madame Riano’s departure might change all that. I had not the least doubt, if Francezka were compelled to make instant choice of a husband, that Gaston Cheverny would be the man. On the other hand, Madame Riano’s remaining might change Gaston Cheverny, for he was not the stuff out of which patient lovers are made.
At midnight we said adieu. The last sight we had of Francezka was as she stood on the balcony of the red saloon, waving her white scarf in farewell to us. She wore a white gown, and a great resplendent moon overhead bathed her in its silvery radiance. She might have been an angel alighting upon the earth and ready to wing her way back to heaven with the dawn of day. When we reached the Manoir Cheverny I went direct to my bed, but the brothers remained an hour or more in conversation in Gaston’s room. It was near two o’clock in the morning when they parted in the corridor 233 upon which my chamber opened, and I heard Gaston’s clear voice saying:
“Brother, you have chosen another country than I; we can no longer say Un Foy, Un Loy, Un Roy, but we need not be any the less brothers.”
“True,” replied Regnard. “Our mother’s father chose another faith, another law, another king, when he left Scotland, wherefore should I not rather be Austrian than French if I like? How many times has this province changed sovereigns? French, Spanish, Austrian, Flemish—I go with the Austrians because I think there is a better chance for fortune and promotion with them. Besides, I ever loved the English, and the English and Austrians will be allied for all of our time. I shall not yet sell Castle Haret—” here he paused a minute; I thought I knew why he would not sell all his landed possessions, which were so very convenient to the château of Capello—“but it depends on events whether I shall occupy it permanently or not.”
Gaston, I fancied, was too proud a man to express any jealousy of his brother’s continued nearness to Francezka, so he replied coolly: