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"Children! children! wicked ones!" he repeated, "how dare you marry each other like two little heathen?" "It comes, my dear, from your having married an American wife," said Madame de Morteyn, brushing away the tears; "they do those things in America." "America!" grumbled the vicomte, perfectly delighted "a nice country for young savages. Lorraine, you at least should have known better."
Then he also laughed, and said, "Tiens! tiens! tiens!" and his wife rose and gave him her arm. Two pretty girls came running up the terrace, and the old vicomte stood up, crying: "Children! Naughty ones! I see you coming! Madame de Morteyn has beaten me at chess. Laugh if you dare! Betty Castlemaine, I see you smiling!"
"You are sorry?" "I don't know; I had hoped she would marry an American. Have you spoken?" "Yes." This was a chivalrous falsehood; it was Dorothy who had spoken first, there in the gravel drive as he rode away from Morteyn. Jack glanced at him angrily. "It was not honourable," he said; "my aunt's permission should have been asked, as you know; also, incidentally, my own.
Jack knew this; he understood it perfectly when the muddy French infantry tramped out of the Château Morteyn and vanished among the dark hills in the rain. For himself, had he been alone, there would have been nothing to keep him in the devastated province.
"Indeed I do," said Jack, warmly. "Do you think he will come here?" "I suppose so. Shall I send you word when he arrives?" Another officer came up, a general, white-haired and sombre. "Is this the Vicomte de Morteyn?" he asked, looking at Jack. "His nephew; the vicomte has gone to Paris. My name is Marche," said Jack. The general saluted him; Jack bowed.
"You can have a horse from the Morteyn stables," said Jack; "my dear fellow, I can't bear to see you go to think of your riding to Metz to-night." "It's got to be done, you know," said Georges. He bowed; Lorraine stretched out her hand and he gravely touched it with his fingers.
He thought, too, of the old Vicomte de Morteyn and his gentle wife, of the little house-party of which he and his sister Dorothy made two, of Sir Thorald and Lady Hesketh, their youthful and totally irresponsible chaperons on the journey from Paris to Morteyn. "They're lunching on the Lisse," he thought. "I'll not get a bite if Ricky is there."
Petersburg in a huff, and, if he stops at Morteyn, tell him he's a fool and that I want him to come back. You're the only person on earth I can write this to. "Faithfully yours, MOLLY HESKETH." Jack laughed aloud, then sat silent, frowning at the dainty bit of letter-paper, crested and delicately fragrant.
The latter clasped his big rough hands between his knees and leaned forward, chewing a stem of a dead leaf, his bright eyes fixed on the reviving fire. "Morteyn! Morteyn!" he repeated; "it exists no longer. There are many dead there dead in the garden, in the court, on the lawn dead floating in the pond, the river dead rotting in the thickets, the groves, the forest.
"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."
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