De Rothan appeared cynically merry. He talked to Durrell about the happenings of the previous night.
"The whole countryside broke away like sheep. What? You are disappointed? No, no, the scare was of value. It showed how jumpy and unsteady these stolid folk are. They tell me that the troops were out of hand in several places. Whole companies made off and had to be chased and brought back by cavalry. It's a fact, sir, a fact."
Durrell showed a morose surface.
"It may have done them good."
"Steadied them, eh, helped them to get used to it? Bah! I should like to see a beacon fired by mistake every other night. The country's courage would be in tatters. Troops—raw troops—are not improved by being worried and fretted."
"I was too happy last night. I thought the time had come."
De Rothan looked at him intently.
"You are on edge, sir, too much on edge."
"No, no; I long for the great change."
A hand-bell rang, and the two men returned to the house. Nance had set tea in the Gothic parlour. De Rothan was floridly officious in arranging a chair for her.