Mr. Langrove had never been a frequent visitor at The Lilies; but Franceline never remembered him to have been so long absent as now, and she could not but see a striking coincidence in the fact. She knew he had been one of the party at Dullerton that night; and if, as she felt certain, that had been the occasion of the extraordinary mistake she had heard of, the vicar, of course, knew all about it. He believed her father had committed a theft, and was keeping aloof from him. Did everybody at Dullerton know this? Mr. Langrove was not a man to spread evil reports in any shape. Franceline knew him well enough to be sure of that; but her father’s reputation was evidently at the mercy of less charitable tongues. She did not know that the six witnesses had promised Sir Simon to keep silence for his sake; but if she had known it, it would not have much reassured her. A secret that is known to six people can scarcely be considered safe. The six may mean to guard it, and may only speak of it among themselves and in whispers; but it is astonishing how far a whisper will travel sometimes, especially when it is malignant. A vague impression had in some inexplicable way got abroad that the count had done something which threw him under a cloud. The gentlemen of the neighborhood were very discreet about it, and had said nothing positively to be taken hold of, but it had leaked out that there was a screw loose in that direction. Young Charlton had laughed at the notion of his friend Anwyll thinking of Mlle. de la Bourbonais now; and the emphasis and smile which accompanied the assurance expressed pretty clearly that there was something amiss which had not been amiss a little while ago.
Franceline had gone out for her usual mid-day walk in the park. It was the most secluded spot where she could take it, as well as warm and sheltered. She was walking near the pond; the milk-white swans were sailing towards her in the sunlight, expecting the bits of bread she had taken a fancy to bring them every day at this hour, when she saw Mr. Langrove emerge from behind a large rockery and step out into the avenue. She trembled as if the familiar form of her old friend had been a wild animal creeping out of the jungle to pounce upon her. What would he do? Would he pass her by, or stop and just say a few cold words of politeness? The vicar did not keep her long in suspense.
“Well! here, you are enjoying the sunshine, I see. And how are you?” he said, extending his hand in the mild, affectionate way that Franceline was accustomed to, but had never thought so sweet before. “Is the cough quite gone?”
“Not quite; but I am better, thank you. Angélique says I am, and she knows more about it than I do,” replied the invalid playfully. “How is everybody at the vicarage?”
“So-so. Arabella has one of her bad colds, and Godiva is suffering from a toothache. It’s the spring weather, no doubt; we will all be brisker by and by. Are you going my way?”
“Any way; I only came for a walk.”
They walked on together.
“And how is M. de la Bourbonais?” said the vicar presently. “I’ve not met him for a long time; we used to come across each other pretty often on the road to Dullerton. He’s not poorly, I hope?”
“No, only busy—so dreadfully busy! He hardly lets the pen out of his hand now; but he promises me there will soon be an end of it, and that the book will soon be finished.”
“Bravo! And you have been such a capital little secretary to him!” said Mr. Langrove. “The next thing will be that we shall have you writing a book on your own account.”