And upstairs, by now, a topic had at last come on between the silent pair that did not make for love or cheerfulness. The Baron had retired to his own room in the rear of the castle, and they had begun to talk of the departure that was now fixed for a date made imminent through the pressure of Petullo. Where were they bound for but France? Doom had decided upon Dunkerque because he had a half-brother there in a retirement compelled partly for political reasons Count Victor could appreciate.
“France!” he cried, delighted. “This is ravishing news indeed, Mademoiselle Olivia!”
“Yes?” she answered dubiously, reddening a little, and wondering why he should particularly think it so.
“Ma foi! it is,” he insisted heartily. “I had the most disturbing visions of your wandering elsewhere. I declare I saw my dear Baron and his daughter immured in some pestilent Lowland burgh town, moping mountain creatures among narrow streets, in dreary tenements, with glimpse of neither sea nor tree to compensate them for pleasures lost. But France!—Mademoiselle has given me an exquisite delight. For, figure you! France is not so vast that friends may not meet there often—if one were so greatly privileged—and every roadway in it leads to Dunkerque—and—I should dearly love to think of you as, so to speak, in my neighbourhood, among the people I esteem. It is not your devoted Highlands, this France, Mademoiselle Olivia, but believe me, it has its charms. You shall not have the mountains—there I am distressed for you—nor yet the rivulets; and you must dispense with the mists; but there is ever the consolation of an air that is like wine in the head, and a frequent sun. France, indeed! Je suis ravi! I little thought when I heard of this end to the old home of you that you were to make the new one in my country; how could I guess when anticipating my farewell to the Highlands of Scotland that I should have such good company to the shore of France?”
“Then you are returning now?” asked Olivia, her affectation of indifference just a little overdone.
In very truth he had not, as yet, so determined; but he boldly lied like a lover.
“'Twas my intention to return at once. I cannot forgive myself for being so long away from my friends there.”
Olivia had a bodice of paduasoy that came low upon her shoulders and showed a spray of jasmine in the cleft of her rounded breasts, which heaved with what Count Victor could not but perceive was some emotion. Her eyes were like a stag's, and they evaded him; she trifled with the pocket of her gown.
“Ah,” she said, “it is natural that you should weary here in this sorry place and wish to get back to the people you know. There will be many that have missed you.”
He laughed at that.