“Then I shall expect to hear when you return for me.”
“You will, madame; depend upon it, I will bring you news. And now, if I may offer a counsel, which I am sure is wise, I would say, madame, that you should lie down and try to sleep.”
The advice was as welcome as it was wise, and it was not long ere I carried it out.
When I awoke, it was well on in the afternoon, and we were close inshore.
“Yes, madame, it is the Island. There is my house—the one with the flag-staff. See, my good woman has the signal flying for me. I can never come within reach without her scenting me out.”
There was a fine pride in his words, and his house was worthy of it. A clean, honest, white face it presented, framed in young hop-vines carefully trained up the low curving roof, and set in a garden which already gave promise of much bloom. His wife, a plump, comely woman, waited for us at the landing-place.
“Ma bonne amie!” said Gabriel, embracing her. “Madame de St. Just has crossed with me from Beaulieu to await le père Jean here, and will stay with you until he comes.”
“Your servant, madame,” she answered, with a neat courtesy. “If my good man had let me know you were coming, I would have been better prepared.”
“'Qui n'a, ne peut,' ma bonne femme. You will do your best, and madame will not ask for more. Had she known of her coming herself, she would have travelled with her servant, as she is used; but she comes alone, because she has great need, and I assured her you would be proud to do all you can for her sake.”
“So I will, madame; do not let my husband make you believe I am not more than pleased to have you in my poor house. You do us too much honour in asking it. Come, madame, let me shew you the way.”