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"But I've sent Faust on already," said Madame de Morteyn, smiling. "Then the Marquis de Nesville will lend me a horse; you can't keep me away like that," said Jack; "I will drive Mademoiselle de Nesville to her home and then come on horseback and meet you at Belfort, as I said I would."
As he left the park and cantered into the broad red highway, he turned in his saddle and looked towards the Château de Nesville. At first he could not see it, but as he rode over the bridge he caught a glimpse of the pointed roof and single turret, a dim silhouette through the mist. Then it vanished in the films of fog. The road to Saarbrück was a military road, and easy travelling.
So he finished his coffee, went to his room, changed his clothes, and sent a maid to inquire whether Lorraine would receive him in the small library at the head of the stairs. The maid returned presently, saying that Mademoiselle de Nesville would be down in a moment or two, so Jack strolled into the library and leaned out of the window to smoke.
Pray do not alarm yourself, Mademoiselle de Nesville, for I have a species of post-chaise at the door and a pair of alleged horses, and the whole outfit is at your disposal; indeed it is, and so am I. Come now! and so am I." He hesitated, and then continued: "I have passes and papers, and enough to get you through a dozen lines. Now, where do you wish to go?"
"What?" "See what others don't." Sir Thorald, a trifle disconcerted, applied himself to caviare and, later, to a bottle of Moselle. "She's a beauty, they say " began Ricky, and might have continued had he not caught the danger-signal in Molly Hesketh's black eyes. "Lorraine de Nesville," said Lady Hesketh, "is only a child of seventeen. Her father makes balloons."
I'd say more if Mademoiselle de Nesville were not here." He was trying hard to bear up to speak lightly of the frightful calamity that had overwhelmed General Abel Douay and his entire division. "The fight at the Château was worth seeing," said Georges, airily. "They went at it with drums beating and flags flying.
He could have borne it easier if the Marquis de Nesville had been a loving father, even a tyrannically solicitous father; but to see such love thrown before a marble-faced man, whose expression never changed except when speaking of his imbecile machines! "How can he! How can he!" muttered Jack, riding through the woods.
Jack Marche tucked his gun under his arm and turned away along the overgrown wood-road that stretched from the De Nesville forests to the more open woods of Morteyn. He walked slowly, puffing his pipe, pondering over his encounter with the châtelaine of the Château de Nesville.
She hurried away up the stairs; he heard her little eager feet on the stone steps that led to the turret; climbing up, up, up, until the sound was lost in the upper stories of the house. He went out to the stables and ordered the dog-cart and a wagon for her trunks. He did not fear that this order might be premature, for he thought he had not misjudged the Marquis de Nesville.
Something flashed from the lighted windows of the Château de Nesville another flash broke out another then three dull reports sounded, and the night wind spread the echoes broadcast among the wooded hills. For a second she stood beside him, white, rigid, speechless; then her little hand crushed his arm and she pushed him violently towards the horses. "Mount!" she cried; "ride! ride!"
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