Franceline looked at him, and laughed too—that clear, ringing laugh of hers, that was so contagious; they both felt very young together.
“And what was your next vocation?” she asked, perfectly unconscious of any indiscretion. “What are you going to do now?”
“This morning my mind was made up to go abroad again in a few days, and recommence my old life of busy idleness; but your father has upset all my plans.”
“My father!”
“Yes. It ought not to surprise you much; it is not likely to be the first time that M. de la Bourbonais has proved the good genius of another. He was kind enough to let me talk to him of myself, and to give my folly the benefit of his wisdom; he made me feel that I was leading a very selfish, good-for-nothing sort of life, and showed me how wrong it was; in fact, he did for me what I wanted to do for the savages. He taught me what my duty was, and I promised him I would try to do it.”
“Ah! then perhaps you are going to be a hero after all,” said Franceline, a gleam of enthusiasm sparkling in her face again.
“I fear not; at least, it will be a very prosaic, humdrum sort of heroism. I am going to stay at home, and try to be useful to a few people in a quiet way on my own property.”
“Oh! I am so glad. Then we shall see you again. You’ll be sure to come and see Sir Simon sometimes, will you not?”
“Yes, I will come in any case to see M. de la Bourbonais,” said Clide. “His advice will be invaluable to me; and he was so kind as to promise that he would always be glad to give it to me.”
The sweet dimples broke out with a blush of pleasure and pride in Franceline’s face; it was a delight to her to hear any one speak so of her father, and Clide had seen so many wise and clever people in his travels that his admiration and respect implied a great deal. If the young man had been a Talleyrand bent on attaining some diplomatic end, he could not have displayed greater cunning and tact.