One evening Mr. Lindsay, a M. Villars, and M. Muller, a Swiss gentleman and a noted man of science, very much at home in Mr. Lindsay's house, were carrying on, in French, a conversation, in which the two foreigners took part against their host. M. Villars began with talking about Lafayette; from him they went to the American revolution and Washington, and from them to other patriots and other republics, ancient and modern MM. Villars and Muller taking the side of freedom, and pressing Mr. Lindsay hard with argument, authority, example, and historical testimony. Ellen, as usual, was fast by his side, and delighted to see that he could by no means make good his ground. The ladies at the other end of the room would several times have drawn her away, but happily for her, and also, as usual, Mr. Lindsay's arm was around her shoulders, and she was left in quiet to listen. The conversation was very lively, and on a subject very interesting to her; for America had always been a darling theme; Scottish struggles for freedom were fresh in her mind; her attention had long ago been called to Switzerland and its history by Alice and Mrs. Vawse, and French history had formed a good part of her last winter's reading. She listened with the most eager delight, too much engrossed to notice the good-humoured glances that were every now and then given her by one of the speakers. Not Mr. Lindsay, though his hand was upon her shoulder, or playing with the light curls that fell over her temples; he did not see that her face was flushed with interest, or notice the quick smile and sparkle of the eye that followed every turn in the conversation that favoured her wishes, or foiled his; it was M. Muller. They came to the Swiss, and their famous struggle for freedom against Austrian oppression. M. Muller wished to speak of the noted battle in which that freedom was made sure, but for the moment its name had escaped him.
"Par ma foi," said M. Villars, "il m'a entièrement passé!"
Mr. Lindsay would not or could not help him out. But M. Muller suddenly turned to Ellen, in whose face he thought he saw a look of intelligence, and begged of her the missing name.
"Est-ce, Morgarten, Monsieur?" said Ellen, blushing.
"Morgarten! c'est ça!" said he with a polite pleased bow of thanks. Mr. Lindsay was little less astonished than the Duke of Argyle, when his gardener claimed to be the owner of a Latin work on mathematics.
The conversation presently took a new turn with M. Villars; and M. Muller withdrawing from it, addressed himself to Ellen. He was a pleasant-looking elderly gentleman; she had never seen him before that evening.
"You know French well, then?" said he, speaking to her in that tongue.
"I don't know, Sir," said Ellen, modestly.
"And you have heard of the Swiss mountaineers?"
"Oh yes, Sir; a great deal."