"Were they civil?" his wife asked.
"No end of a fuss, my dear. As if the word of an English gentleman were not sufficient. Close description of us both written in the register."
Once more they drove on, Roy gazing from side to side, noting the small insignificant shops, and exclaiming at occasional peeps of the river with an interest which never quite failed him. The others were for the most part silent. Mrs. Baron's eyes were dim, the Colonel was pre-occupied, and Ivor, usually the most observant of men, seemed to see nothing.
Presently they stopped before the gateway of a large old house or small private "hôtel," with an untidy little courtyard. An old Frenchman, in quaint dress, grey-haired, with an imposing pig-tail, came to meet them, bowing profoundly to the gentlemen, and still more profoundly to Mrs. Baron.
"C'est, sans doute, Monsieur le Colonel—et Madame——"
Colonel Baron's particular gift did not lie in the direction of foreign languages. He never could talk French, and probably he never would, no matter how many years he might be compelled to live in France.
"Oui, monsieur. Bon jour. C'est nous qui sont viendrai," he responded, feeling it incumbent on him to say something, as he descended from the old coach. "J'espère que vous êtes bien. Je suis bien aise que nous sommes haut—pas bas—pas près de le rivière. Bother their grammar, Denham; you can do it better than I. Just say what's suitable."
Denham obeyed, and the next object which dawned upon Roy's perceptions was the sad and gentle face of Lucille de St. Roques. He seized her hand vehemently.
"I say, mademoiselle, it's nice to find you here. Isn't it, Den? Mamma, this is Mademoiselle de St. Roques. Papa, you know she helped to nurse me after I'd had small-pox. Are we going to live upstairs, mademoiselle? Is that what it's to be? The whole upstairs, all to ourselves? What fun! Which way is it? Oh, I see! This way, mamma. Those poor horses do look tired, just half-starved, and so skinny. Is there a stable for them? Are we to have tea? Dinner! that's right. We didn't get half a dinner to-day, and I'm famished. What a droll old staircase? Do look out of this window, mamma."
Roy's flow of spirits helped them all. The Colonel and his wife gratefully expressed their thanks to the French girl for her past kindness to their boy, both being much attracted by her face and her pretty manner as she led the way upstairs to the first floor. There stood Madame Courant, a fat and smiling little Frenchwoman, ready to bestow unlimited welcomes upon the unfortunate foreigners.