“No Bess. ’Tis useless. Perhaps a week ago—but not now. However, ’tis no matter. Better men than I have died as I shall die to-morrow morning. I am no hero,—but I hope I can die as becomes a priest and a gentleman.”
“Tell me all,” said Bess, still trembling convulsively, “that I may take it back to France,—to those that love you,—to poor Roger.”
“Yes,” replied Dicky, his bright eyes moistening a little. “I should like Roger, whom I love best of any person in the world, to know how I came to this pass. Well, to make a long story short, I got the mission to England, although every one of my countrymen in the Society of Jesus was on file as eager to go. I came as a strolling fiddler, and was safe enough for a time. I even lay in the village of Egremont several days and nights. You have no notion, Bess!” cried Dicky, his tone growing animated, “how I liked my fiddler’s life. You see, it was mostly in the open air,—and it was so sweet to be in English fields and woods again, and to be at Egremont!”
There was a kind of rapture in his voice.
“How you and Roger do love Egremont!” sighed Bess,—she had said it many times before.
“Yes, we are simple about it, I think. But, Bess, that last week of freedom was the very happiest of my life. Was it not good of God to give me so much happiness—and the very sort I would have asked—at the very last?”
“No!” cried Bess, in whom nature was ever stronger than grace. “It is not good of God to let you be murdered,—to—”
Bess stopped; something in Dicky’s eye compelled her.
“And then,” said Dicky, resuming where he had left off, “it was so good to play my fiddle as much as I liked. You see, Bess, at the seminary there were more serious things to do; and I never could manage to have the company of my dear fiddle for more than half an hour in the day. The Superior made me play the great organ in church,—but I never loved it like my fiddle. And I played English tunes all the time, except once, at the very last; and I was confused, and played ‘Les Folies en Espagne,’ and that was the beginning of my being discovered.” And then, actually laughing, Dicky said, “Tell that to Madame de Beaumanoir.”
Bess, with tears dropping down her pale face, motioned him to go on.