"Art happy, chérie, in the reflection that your vengeance is complete; that our enemy, Napoleon, no longer the great, is exiled; that my wanderings about the Continent are over, and that now we can be all in all to one another."
"But is it really true?" she asked.
"True enough, my dearest. Did you not read it in the newspaper I brought last week, when I went to London?"
"But newspapers oft lie. I am still not easy. You know, or ought to by this time, that I depend on what my spirits tell me; not altogether on what is common knowledge. And they have told me—"
"Hush! little woman, not so loud; you may be overheard. As it is, these English about here are suspicious of us, because we're French; what would they think, should they see and hear you at your incantations? I believe they would burn you as a witch."
She burst into a merry, careless laugh. "They must catch me first," she said.
But he did not join in her merriment.
"Don't laugh, my dear," he said. "If harm should come to you—" he sighed.
"No harm will come to me. If any should threaten me, my spirits would forewarn me of it."
They resumed their walk in silence, pacing up and down the graveled walks. He seemed moody and disturbed.