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Updated: May 16, 2025
Behind her, the Marquis de Gemosac, Albert de Chantonnay, his mother, and all the Royalists of the province, gathered in a semicircle, by accident or some tacit instinct, leaving only the girl standing out in front, beneath the chandelier. They bowed with that grave self-possession which falls like a cloak over the shoulders of such as are of ancient and historic lineage.
"Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, shortly a salutation, and a comment in one; for it conveyed the fact that she saw it was he and perceived that he was in his usual health. "It is news from Monsieur, I suppose," she added, slowly, turning down her sleeves. "Yes, the Marquis writes that he is on his way to Gemosac and wishes you to prepare the chateau for his return."
"I will not even tell the story as it was told to me," he said to the Marquis de Gemosac, to the Abbe Touvent and to the Comtesse de Chantonnay, whom he met frequently enough at the house of his cousin, Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, in that which is now the Province of the Charente Inferieure. "I will not even tell you the story as it was told to me, until one of you has seen the man.
The Italian house screened them from the windows of that portion of the ancient stabling which the Marquis had made habitable when he bought back the chateau of Gemosac from the descendant of an adventurous republican to whom the estate had been awarded in the days of the Terror.
Catastrophe was imminent, and none knew where to look for its approach. But all thought that it must come at the end of the year. A sort of panic took hold of all classes. They dreaded the end of 1851. The Marquis de Gemosac spoke openly of these things before Juliette. She had been present when Loo and he talked together of this last journey, so happily accomplished, so fruitful of result.
He was too polite, it seemed, to be sceptical, and by his attitude expressed a readiness to be convinced as much from indifference as by reasoning. "It is intolerable," said the Marquis de Gemosac, "that a man of your understanding should be misled by a few romantic writers in the pay of the Orleans." "I am not misled, Marquis; I am ignorant," laughed Colville. "It is not always the same thing."
"Never," exclaimed Madame de Chantonnay, as her guests took leave at their wonted hour, and some of them even later "never have I had a Thursday so dull and yet so full of incident." "And never, madame," replied the Marquis, still on tiptoe, as it were, with delight and excitement, "shall we see another like it." Loo went back to Gemosac with the fluttering old man and Juliette.
He found it quite easy to make love to her; and she, it seemed, desired nothing better. Nothing definite had been said by the Marquis de Gemosac. They were not formally affianced. They were not forbidden to see each other. But the irregularity of these proceedings lent a certain spice of surreptitiousness to their intercourse which was not without its charm.
As in all lands that have been torn hither and thither by long wars, the peasants of Guienne learnt, long ago, the wisdom of dwelling together in closely built villages, making a long journey to their fields or vineyards every day. In times past, Gemosac had been a walled town, dominated, as usual, by the almost impregnable castle.
As the story neared its end, he glanced round the room, to make sure that none was listening to their conversation. "Dormer Colville," he repeated. "Does he come into it?" "He came to Farlingford with the Marquis de Gemosac, out of pure good-nature because the Marquis could speak but little English. He is a charming man. So unselfish and disinterested." "Who? The Marquis?" "No; Dormer Colville."
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