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A visit to Penhouet, however, completely changed my opinion of this little maiden. The atmosphere of beauty, of calm in which she lived, the liking and respect I felt for M. and Madame Darbois, and the free play of intelligence and taste I there discovered, made a deep impression on me and I could not forget.
And even this fact is not an exception to the general rule; for M. de Penhouet, the greatest antiquarian, perhaps, in Celtic lore in Brittany, has proved that the Veneti of Western Gaul were not really Celts, but rather a colony of Carthaginians, the only one probably remaining, in the time of Caesar, of those once numerous foreign colonies of the old enemies of Rome.
My fortune is twice Albert's; he is a Count, I a Duke, and what is more, a Frenchman." Maurice stood up nervously. "You are a very gallant man, Duke, and my sympathy was yours from your first visit to Penhouet, but I am greatly distressed that you should have made me your confidant, for I must in honour bound support Albert." "I do not see why!
The young girl, now convalescent, was strong enough to be moved. "We will take her to Penhouet for a month," said Francois Darbois's note to the Countess, "and when she is quite cured we will send her to you in Brussels." The Duke was in despair at the idea of hearing that Esperance was to go away. He complained to Maurice whom he saw every day, "Can I not see Esperance?"
Jean Perliez contemplated Esperance and smiled sadly, if gladly too, at the thought that she was going to be delivered from the dangerous Duke de Morlay-La-Branche. They sat down on a high rock overlooking the little beach of Penhouet and remained silent for a while. "How very beautiful it is," murmured Albert at last. "You love the sea, do you not, Mlle. Esperance?"
The Count was intoxicated by the light perfume of Esperance's body there so near him that he seemed almost to touch her. His strong hands rose and fell beside her delicate fingers, making the young girl think of a great hawk fluttering over white pigeons, at the farm of Penhouet in Brittany, where for years she had spent her holidays.
The Count's little trunk found place beside the farmer on the front seat. A basket of osier, which the young man had handled very carefully, was also placed in the brake, and then they set off for Pont-Herlin. They were growing anxious at the farm of Penhouet, at the non-appearance of M. and Mme.
Farther away, at the edge of the fields, were the farmer's quarters, with a long pond full of reeds and iris, hard by and adjoining the pond a pigeon house with sixteen white pigeons which were very dear to Esperance. She loved to see them fly across the water, like pretty messengers disporting between two skies. After a frugal dinner the young people climbed the dills as far as Penhouet.
"Look! isn't that a pretty boat?" cried out Genevieve. A white yacht was sailing slowly towards Penhouet. The philosopher got his glasses. "It is the Princess's flag," he exclaimed. "Yes, yes," agreed Albert, "it is the Belgian flag. Listen, there is the salute." Jean ran to the farm, calling back, "I will answer it. All right, M. Darbois?"
"You have scarcely seemed yourself lately, even at Penhouet. Now you are truly yourself, you are radiant with your seventeen years. It is a pleasure to look at you and to listen to you." When the two girls came into the hall the Director, Maurice Renaud, the Marquis Assistant, and the stage-manager, Louis de Marset, were the only others who had arrived.
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