The admiral and Clide had planned to leave next day; but the weather was so glorious and the host was so genial that it required no great pressing to make them alter their plans and consent to remain a few days longer.
“You know we are due at Bourbonais’ this evening,” said Sir Simon. “The old lady will never forgive me if I disappoint her of cooking that omelet for you.”
So it was agreed that they would sup at The Lilies, and M. de la Bourbonais was requested to convey the message to Angélique when, according to appointment, he came up early to the Court. He had no opportunity of talking it over with Sir Simon; the admiral and Clide were there, and other visitors dropped in and engaged his attention. The baronet, however, contrived to set him quite at rest; the grasp of his hand, and the smile with which he greeted his friend, said plainer than words: “Cheer up, we’re all right again!” He was in high spirits, welcoming everybody, and looking as cheerful as if he did not know what a dun meant. He fully intended to whisper to Raymond that he had written about the horses to Lord Roxham; but he was not able to do it, owing to their being so surrounded.
“Do you ride much, Monsieur le Comte?” said Clide, coming to sit by Raymond, who, he observed, stood rather aloof from the people who were chatting together on common topics.
“No,” said Raymond; “I prefer walking, which is fortunate, as I don’t possess a horse.”
“If you cared for it, that wouldn’t be an impediment, I fancy” said the young man. “Sir Simon would be only too grateful to you for exercising one of his. He has a capital stud. I’ve been looking at it this morning. He’s a first-rate judge of horse-flesh.”
“That is the basis of an Englishman’s education, is it not?” said the count playfully.
“Which accounts, perhaps, for the defects of the superstructure,” replied Clide, laughing. “It is rather a hard hit at us, Monsieur le Comte; but I’m afraid we deserve it. You have a good deal to put up with from us one way or another, I dare say, to say nothing of our climate.”
“That is a subject that I never venture to touch on,” said Raymond, with affected solemnity. “I found out long ago that his climate was a very sore point with an Englishman, and that he takes any disrespect to it as a personal offence.”
“A part of our general conceit,” observed Clide good-humoredly. “I’ve been so long out of it that I almost forget its vices, and only remember its virtues.”