For me—I think of one who is far away.
And in the long, long night, I weep for my love,
For the long, long night, I weep.”
Roger put so much feeling into what he sang that it touched every heart, and Michelle’s eyes filled with tears, at which Roger’s grew bright with triumph. And suddenly Madame de Beaumanoir’s voice cut the air,—
“Now that we have reached within five miles of Orlamunde we can talk openly about the affair which brings us all here. I love to talk of things I know, and it has been a mortal trial to me to hold my tongue, especially as we all know the whole thing except Mr. Egremont.”
Roger rose instantly, polite, but a little disconcerted. He supposed that the secret affair was some political measure connected with the relations of France and the little principality of Orlamunde, and the measure the King had confided to the ladies and to Berwick. François Delaunay knew it, but that was natural enough, considering that he was the ostensible protector of his aunt and cousin on their journey.
Roger made a good excuse for leaving the company; he must go and look after Merrylegs. The faithful beast showed some signs of fatigue, and must be attended to by his master, and not by a hireling.
Roger remained away a long time. He wished not to intrude himself until much time for discussion had passed. He walked about the fields, and always in the direction of the Rhine, so that he saw the river quite plainly. The evenings were long, and although the moon did not now rise till past midnight, the sky was bright with opaline light, and a star or two shone beautifully in the western horizon. It was nearly eight o’clock when he turned homeward, and it was an hour before the lights of the inn came in sight.
As he was passing through the little wood which lay behind the garden of the inn, he was surprised to see Michelle standing under the trees. He went up to her, saying,—
“The beauty of the evening tempted me to go afar.”