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Updated: May 2, 2025
Albert de Chantonnay was looking expectantly at the door, for he had heard footsteps, and now he bowed gravely to a very old gentleman, a notary of the town, who entered the room with a deep obeisance to the Comtesse. Close on the notary's heels came others. Some were in riding costume, and came from a distance. One sprightly lady wore evening dress, only partially concealed by a cloak.
So far as his story was concerned, he kept his word, entertaining the Marquis on the journey and during their two days' sojourn at the humble inn at Farlingford with that flow of sympathetic and easy conversation which always made Madame de Chantonnay protest that he was no Englishman at all, but all that there was of the most French.
And this was the story that went half round France, from lip to lip, among those who were faithful to the traditions of a glorious past. "Madame St. Pierre Lawrence," Albert de Chantonnay told Colville, in reply, "is not here to-night. She is, however, at her villa, at Royan.
And now, with your permission, I will return to Royan, where I have my little apartment, as you know." He looked from one to the other, with his melancholy and self-deprecating smile. "Voila" he added; "it remains for me to pay my respects to Madame de Chantonnay. We have travelled far, and I am tired. I shall ask her to excuse me." "And Monsieur de Bourbon comes to Gemosac. That is understood.
"We reached the chateau of Gemosac only a few minutes after Monsieur le Marquis and Mademoiselle had quitted it to come here," Barebone explained to Madame de Chantonnay; "and trusting to the good-nature so widely famed of Madame la Comtesse, we hurriedly removed the dust of travel, and took the liberty of following them hither." "You have not taken me by surprise," replied Madame de Chantonnay.
De Chantonnay folded the letter and looked at the faces surrounding the dimly lighted table. Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, who must have known the contents of the letter, and, therefore, came provided, leaned across the table with a discreet clink of jewellery and laid before Albert de Chantonnay a note for a thousand francs. "I am only an Englishwoman," she said, simply, "but I can help."
The Comtesse de Chantonnay was still tossing her head, at intervals, at the recollection of the Vicomtesse de Rathe's indigestion. This was only typical of the feelings that divided every camp in France at this time at any time, indeed, since the days of Charlemagne for the French must always quarrel among themselves until they are actually on the brink of national catastrophe.
"Ah!" returned the Comtesse de Chantonnay. "It is not that. I happen to know that the Vicomtesse de Rathe has the digestion of a schoolboy. It is because she has no confidence in Albert. But we shall see we shall see. It is not for the nobility of Louis Philippe to to have a poor digestion."
It is the same to them so long as they have a change of some sort and see, or think they see, gain to themselves to be snatched from it." From which it will be seen that Albert de Chantonnay knew his countrymen.
"But," protested Madame de Chantonnay, who had a Frenchwoman's inimitable quickness to grasp a situation the Government could scarcely cause a bank to fail such an old-established bank as Turner's, which has existed since the day of Louis XIV in order to gain time." "An unscrupulous Government can do anything in France," replied the lady's son.
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