“Well, madame, I have news for your waiting-woman, at least; though why she should run away when she must be dying to hear it, is more than I can imagine. Tell her that her son arrived safely at Louisbourg, where he was soon a hot favourite with every one in the garrison, and most of all with the Chevalier de Maxwell.” Here he paused to raise his glass, looking hard at me the while. To my distress, the tell-tale blood leaped to my face at the unexpected mention of that dear name. “Being a stirring lad and much attached to me,” he continued, without apparently noticing my confusion, “he begged to be allowed to join me on an expedition. We were surprised by the English, and he was slightly wounded—oh, nothing, I assure you, madame, a mere scratch!—and carried off a prisoner, but no doubt is even now as great a favourite with them as he was with us. Should they come to look us up in the spring, I doubt not he will be found in their ranks. At all events, he is with his friends, and is safe.”
So rejoiced was I to hear this news for Lucy's sake, that I excused myself and withdrew to my room, where I found the dear, patient soul on her knees, awaiting whatever tidings I might bring.
“Oh, my dear mistress,” she said, quietly, when I had told her all, “I have prayed and hoped, but at times my poor faith would almost fail me; and even now, when trembling at what I might have to bear, His message comes, that all is well with the child.”
[CHAPTER XVII]
I FIND MYSELF IN A FALSE POSITION
The rest of the week passed quickly, in one sense, though every hour of it dragged for me. I was burning with impatience to hear M. de Sarennes speak some word of his intended departure, and yet could not bring myself to put the ungracious question, when I saw the dear pleasure his stay meant to his mother. Never had I seen more tender, respectful attention than that with which he surrounded her. He would sit by her for hours listening to her tales of his father, or relating his own adventures and successes against the English.
“Have a care, my son,” she would say, with an anxiety, not unmixed with pride; “they will not forget these things. They may try to work us evil for them some day.”
“No fear, ma mère! not while I am by to defend you,” he would answer, with a protecting love that redeemed his confidence from bravado.
He accompanied Angélique and me on all our walks, explaining to us the simpler mysteries of his wonderful woodcraft, and keenly enjoying our ready admiration. But my mind was uneasy. With the assuredness of a man accustomed to facile conquest, he pressed his attentions upon me in a manner to which I was unaccustomed, greatly to my embarrassment.
No woman of my day could, in ordinary circumstances, be at a loss to interpret any attentions she might receive. In our world, gallantry was a science well understood; as exact as war, its every move had its meaning; its rules were rigidly defined, and no one ever thought of transgressing them; so there reigned a freedom which made society a pleasure, and the intercourse with men was exactly what one chose it should be.