André, though not quite relishing this pleasantry, which jarred a little on his vanity, nevertheless could not help laughing.
Late in the evening M. d'Egmont handed Jules a little silver candlestick exquisitely wrought.
"There, my dear boy, is all that my creditors have left me of my ancient fortune. They intended it, I suppose, to solace my sleepless nights. Good-night, dear boy; one sleeps well at your age; and when, after my prayers beneath the vault of that great temple which is forever declaring the glory of God, I once more come under my roof, you will be deep in your slumbers."
CHAPTER X.
MADAME D'HABERVILLE'S STORY.
Saepè malum hoc nobis, si mens non læva fuisset,
De cœlo tactas memini praedicere quercus.
Virgil.
All was silence and gloom at D'Haberville Manor; the very servants went about their work with a spiritless air, far unlike their usual gayety. Madame D'Haberville choked back her tears that she might not add to her husband's grief, and Blanche, for her mother's sake, did her weeping in secret; for in three days the vessel was to set sail. Captain D'Haberville had bidden his two friends, the priest and M. d'Egmont, to meet Jules and Archie at a farewell dinner. At this meal every one strove to be cheerful, but the attempt was a conspicuous failure. The priest, wisely concluding that a sober conversation would be better than the sorrowful silence into which the party was continually dropping, introduced a subject which was beginning to press on all thoughtful minds.
"Do you know, gentlemen," said he, "that a storm is gathering dark on the horizon of New France. The English are making tremendous preparations, and everything seems to indicate an early attack."