He sighed heavily. Berwick, without saying anything, clapped him on the shoulder, saying,—
“Come—to our inn—and note how different life will look to thee before a bright fire, with a good supper and honest wine to follow!”
Roger answered him with a dull, forced smile.
They went to a good inn, and had supper, and Roger Egremont, being a very human man after all, recovered his spirits immediately, and laughed and sang, and joined heartily in the toast to the ladies. But he did not mention Michelle’s name, nor any subject of their talk during that long, sweet day. And Berwick, wise gentleman that he was, asked no questions.
Next morning early, they sallied forth, to make the necessary purchases for their journey. Roger, in the rashness of youth, bought a suit of delicate green and gold, with a waistcoat of rose-colored satin; this was for the benefit of the ladies. And he also bought himself a brace of horse-pistols, and a furred body-coat and mantle of black cloth, and a little worn volume of Ronsard’s verses, hiding the book in his breast and saying nothing of it.
In the afternoon he was to go to see Bess Lukens, and at five o’clock he was to meet Berwick at the Porte St. Martin. He wished it were already five o’clock, as he made his way on Merrylegs through the dark and narrow streets toward Papa Mazet’s house. Roger Egremont was a bold man, full of daring; but some of your greatest poltroons where women are concerned are made of these swashbucklers.
As he turned the corner of the street, he came upon Papa Mazet, pottering along with his cane and snuff-box. Roger dismounted to greet him.
“Happy am I to see you, Monsieur Egremont,” cried old Mazet, delighted, “and thank you for bringing that song-bird, Mees Lukens, to Madame Michot’s. She sings all day, ever better and better. Next week, she is to sing at a little concert given for the King by Monseigneur the Dauphin, with the accompaniment of his Majesty’s own band of twenty-four violins. But—” here old Mazet rubbed his nose dubiously, “she has her drawbacks—she has her drawbacks. When she is not singing, she is eternally sweeping, cleaning, brushing, scrubbing, and washing. Between us, I may say to you, my sister and I should be rather better pleased if she would let a few cobwebs and a little dust remain. We are cleaned and dusted until we are half dead sometimes. But Mees Bess has a temper. My God! She has learned to swear in French, and it is truly terrible when she is angry.”
Roger laughed at this.
“She was ever the most tireless worker imaginable. I go now to see her, and I have the honor to bid you farewell, monsieur. In a few days I go on a journey, and then to join the army of the Maréchal de Luxembourg.”