“Yes, mademoiselle, some day I shall go back, and shall be in better case than most of the gentlemen whose estates have been sequestrated, for mine is in the hands of my bastard brother, as I told you that day in December on the terrace, and he is thrifty,—a bastard needs to be; and I shall find Egremont in good order and prosperous. Then shall I reap the fruits of my brother’s industry.”
As he stopped speaking, they heard a cackle of laughter behind them, and Madame de Beaumanoir was saying to Berwick:—
“Ah, you have something of your uncle Charles about you, and will yet have your fling—like him, the dear rascal! I would not give one such King as he for all your pious, praying, God-forgive-his-enemies Kings in the universe.”
And Berwick laughed at this, to Roger’s amazement, as always; for he never could understand how Berwick, a man without fear and without reproach, should either feel no shame at his origin, or should conceal it so stoically that no man, or woman either, saw the least glimmer of it. Michelle, too, was surprised at Berwick’s cool smile at this wicked pleasantry of the old Duchess, and exchanged a look full of meaning with Roger.
“And as for this journey to Orlamunde,” continued the old lady, “I should not fear in the least to make it with only my servants and François; for although François is nothing more than a lump of clay where good liquor and pretty women are concerned—”
Here François feebly smiled, and Berwick said, with a grin, “Madame, I am informed that Monsieur Delaunay is reckoned a most desperate rake, and that the King and Queen therefore desire him to be removed from their virtuous court.”
“Ah,” sighed Madame de Beaumanoir, “I wish it were true; there is not a man in my family fit to keep up the reputation of it. However, as I told you, I should not be afraid to make this journey alone, having neither youth nor beauty; but I like pleasant company. King Louis, you understand, is mightily obliged to us for going, although he has not seen fit to give me his reasons, and will not until we are fairly on the move for Orlamunde. He palavered much about this, did his Most Christian Majesty, the day I went with my niece to Marly. We saw the King in his cabinet,—old Maintenon, of course, listening with both ears; so I said to him that I hoped he would not send us so far without some good company with us; and when he mentioned you and Roger Egremont, I replied, ‘There are not two pleasanter rogues at St. Germains: Berwick, for all his lantern jaws and solemn ways, has a spice of his blessed uncle in him.’ You should have seen old Maintenon cast up her eyes to heaven; but the King knew; he was not always so prayerful as he is now—” and the old lady gave so unconscionable a wink that neither Berwick nor Roger could refrain from laughing.
At midday, they were half-way to Paris, and stopping for an hour to have dinner, and to stretch their cramped limbs on land, they left the boat. The maître d’hôtel, and the two men-servants with him, laid the cloth upon the grass, under some cedar trees, for the sun was strangely warm for the season, and spreading rugs and cushions on the ground, a sylvan dining-room was made. There was a good dinner and wine, and Roger, after he had done justice to both, rose, and, inviting Michelle by a look, she rose too.
“We will meet you at the bend in the river two miles ahead,” he said, bowing low to Madame de Beaumanoir, as if it had been a preconceived arrangement with Michelle.
“Go on,” she replied, flourishing the wing of a cold fowl at him, “but do not lose your way and find yourself at Verneuil instead of Paris. Young people used to lose their way in my day.”