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Gre crest, broke it, and read: "Mr. Ritchie will confer a favor upon la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour if he will come to Monsieur de St. Gre's house at eight to-morrow morning." I bade the reluctant Madame Gravois good night, gained my room, threw off my clothes, and covered myself with the mosquito bar.
In her letters Mrs. Her voice faltered sadly. Scarce a week had she been in the house before Antoinette had found her. "I I sent the girl away, David. She came without Monsieur de St. Gre's knowledge, without his consent. It is natural that he thinks me I will not say what. I sent Antoinette away. She clung to me, she would not go, and I had to be cruel.
There was no question of sleep, for the events of the day and surmises for the morrow tortured me as I tossed in the heat. Had the man been Gignoux? If so, he was in league with Carondelet's police. I believed him fully capable of this. And if he knew Nick's whereabouts and St. Gre's, they would both be behind the iron gateway of the calabozo in the morning.
He had not the astuteness to be a rogue; oddly he had the sense to know that he could fool us no longer. "Temple is at Lamarque's," he answered sullenly. I glanced questioningly at the Vicomtesse. "Lamarque is an old pensioner of Monsieur de St. Gre's," said she; "he has a house and an arpent of land not far below here." "Exactly," said Auguste, "and if Mr.
The room, like others in the house, seemed to reflect the decorous character of its owner. Two St. Gre's, indifferently painted, but rigorous and respectable, relieved the whiteness of the wall. They were the Commissary-general and his wife. The lattices were closed on one side, and in the deep amber light the family silver shone but dimly.
A deafening crash followed as we took our seats, while Monsieur de St. Gre's man lighted four candles of green myrtle-berry wax. "Monsieur Gratiot's letter speaks vaguely of politics, Mr. Ritchie," began Monsieur de St. Gre. He spoke English perfectly, save for an occasional harsh aspiration which I cannot imitate.
Ze Baron has been make miserable with Jacobins. But I go with you if you go." He discoursed for some time upon the quality of the St. Gre's, their public services, and before he went to sleep he made the very just remark that there was a flaw in every string of beads.
Deftly dropping her veil, she picked up a riding whip that lay on the railing and descended the stairs to the courtyard. Antoinette and I followed. As we came through the archway I saw Andre, Monsieur de St. Gre's mulatto, holding open the wicket for us to pass.
Hers was the dignity that comes from unselfish service, the calm that is far from resignation, though the black veil caught up on her chapeau de paille gave her the air of a Sister of Mercy. Antoinette had inherited the energies as well as the features of the St. Gre's, yet there was a painful moment as she stood there, striving to put down the agitation the sight of me gave her.
Gre's eyes on me as I bowed, and I began to think I was in near as great a predicament as Auguste. Monsieur de St. Gre was managing the matter with infinite wisdom. "Sit down, my son," he said; "you have no doubt been staying with your uncle." Auguste sat down, still staring. "Does your aunt's health mend?" "She is better to-night, father," said the son, in English which might have been improved.
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