“My good Paul,” said he, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-one come Martinmas,” I said.
“Expiscate! elucidate! 'Come Martinmas,'” says he, “and what does that mean? But no matter—twenty-one says my barbarian; sure 'tis a right young age, a very baby of an age, an age in frocks if one that has it has lived the best of his life with sheep and bullocks.”
“Sir,” I said, indignant, “I was in very honest company among the same sheep and bullocks.”
“Hush!” said he, and put up his hand, eying me with compassion and kindness. “If thou only knew it, lad, thou art due me a civil attention at the very least. Sure there is no harm in my mentioning that thou art mighty ingenuous for thy years. 'Tis the quality I would be the last to find fault with, but sometimes it has its inconveniences. And Bernard”—he turned to the Swiss who was still greatly disturbed—“Bernard is a somewhat older gentleman. Perhaps he will say—our good Bernard—if he was the person I have to thank for taking the sting out of the wasp, for extracting the bullet from my pistol? Ah! I see he is the veritable person. Adorable Bernard, let that stand to his credit!”
Then Bernard fell trembling like a saugh tree, and protested he did but what he was told.
“And a good thing, too,” said the priest, still very pale but with no displeasure. “And a good thing too, else poor Buhot, that I have seen an infinity of headachy dawns with, had been beyond any interest in cards or prisoners. For that I shall forgive you the rest that I can guess at. Take Monsieur Grog's letter where you have taken the rest, and be gone.”
The Swiss went out much crestfallen from an interview that was beyond my comprehension.
When he was gone Father Hamilton fell into a profound meditation, walking up and down his room muttering to himself.
“Faith, I never had such a problem presented to me before,” said he, stopping his walk; “I know not whether to laugh or swear. I feel that I have been made a fool of, and yet nothing better could have happened. And so my Croque-mort, my good Monsieur Propriety, has been writing the lady? I should not wonder if he thought she loved him.”