“I have not seen my country for thirty-nine years,” continued Madame de Beaumanoir, “but I thank God I am as English as the day I left it. I was preparing to return,—my husband, poor man, was dead and buried, and I had my affairs in order, and a good sum of money, and nothing to keep me here, being minded to take my niece Michelle with me,—when this cursed revolution came about; and the court came to me, instead of my going to the court. ’Tis a monstrous dull court, forever praying and forgiving their enemies, and too moral by half. There’s Berwick—a pretty fellow, with a good wit, but I assure you he is not half the man Sir Charles Sedley was, or Rochester, or any of King Charles’s men. I hope you may enliven us a bit.”
“I will do my endeavors, madam,” answered Roger, “but remember, I have had no king like King Charles of blessed memory to model myself upon.”
“I know it,” sighed the old lady, “but you’ll do your best. Now, here is my grand-nephew, François Delaunay; when I sent for him from Languedoc, to live with me and perhaps be my heir, he was the most strait-laced little rascal you ever saw. He was perpetually going to church and I verily believe the creature had never been drunk in his life. When I would send for him to come and tell me some merry tales, he would be reading his Bible or his meditations, or some fol-de-rol. And when we had a little innocent lansquenet, the fellow actually had the impudence to tell me he had scruples about venturing money on cards! ‘Scruples!’ said I very loud, for I talk loud when I’m vexed, ‘I know what you mean. I have ’em too. I have scruples about leaving a livre of my money to a white-livered little lady of a man, who has not the spirit of a chicken nor anything about him that marks a man of quality.’ You should have seen the change it made in my little man; the hope of money is a great reformer. I made him learn English so he could speak it drunk or sober; and I have driven him now, until he can drink and swear and play like other gentlemen.”
Every word of this was heard by the luckless François, and he turned, with a good-natured, sheepish grin on his face, toward Roger.
“Madam,” said Roger, impudently taking Madame de Beaumanoir’s small hand, and holding it while he again helped himself to snuff out of her box, “I envy Mr. François Delaunay, and I will do what I can toward completing the education you have so auspiciously begun. I will take him, this very night, to the inn of Michot—a monstrous pleasant place, as you know.”
“Yes, I know,” cackled the old lady. “You are a comely, saucy fellow, not unworthy the company of my ever dear and blessed King Charles. I must make you known to my niece. She is a taking baggage. No great beauty, although they say she is, but with all the life in her that her cousin François lacks. She is not here to-night.”
And then Roger, who was amused by the old lady, felt a strange and strong dislike to this niece of whom both Berwick and Madame de Beaumanoir had spoken, and made up his mind that he would hate her.
Presently Berwick came after him, and he talked with many ladies and gentlemen, and midnight found them at the inn of Michot. They had a rollicking night. Dicky was there, and he sang and fiddled with gayety of heart. And François was there, brought by Roger, in conformity with his promise to Madame de Beaumanoir. At first, François affected the swashbuckler, the rake, and the wine-bibber, but when the wine was in the truth was out, with poor François, and leaning his head on his hand he complained bitterly, to the ungodly merriment of the rest.
“Shentlemen, you ought to pity me—tha’sh you ought. I am by nature a pioush man, shentlemen; I don’t like caroushin’ an’ drinkin’. I wanted to be a Calvinist minishter, an’ read golly books,”—François meant godly books,—“but tha’ devilish old woman saysh she don’t like golly men—likesh ’em rakish—won’t leave me a crown if I lead a golly life, an’ acshilly forcesh me to drink an’ swear an’ play. But I’ll dishappoint her yet. As soon as I’m my own man, I’ll be a Calvinist minishter and lead a golly life; no more drinkin’ an’ shwearin’,—all golliness.”
Roger and Berwick put him on horseback and sent him home at daylight very drunk still, according to their promise to Madame de Beaumanoir.