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"It may be, monsieur," Dan replied, "that long before the summer comes you will have left us." "Mais non!" cried M. de Boisdhyver. "Every hour that I stay but proves to me how long you will have to endure my company." Somewhat ungraciously, it seemed, young Frost made no reply to this pleasantry; for already he was impatient to be gone.
Do you, by any chance, know him?" "The Marquis de Boisdhyver?" repeated Madame de La Fontaine. "I know the name certainly; it is an old family with us, monsieur. But I do not recall that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting any one who bore it... But see! they are lowering the boat." They were now at the edge of the surf. Madame de La Fontaine again waved a hand in the direction of the clipper.
"I?" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver. "Oh, no! not I. I have heard from my friend who was here some years ago." "Oh, I see. And you have come far to-day?" "From Coventry, monsieur Monsieur ?" "Pembroke," Tom replied, with a little start. "Ah! yes, Monsieur Pembroke. A member of the household?" "No a friend." "I make a mistake," quickly interposed the traveller, "Pardon.
"At the House on the Dunes," Dan answered, a trifle sharply. "A long walk for Mademoiselle on a cold morning," commented Monsieur Boisdhyver, as he sipped his coffee. In a few moments Dan rose. "Going to the Port to-day, Tom?" "Not till later, any way; I am going down to the beach to have a look at that ship."
"Please, please," murmured Madame de la Fontaine, as she held up her hands in smiling protest. "You go too fast for me. Un moment, mon ami, un moment. It was sixteen years ago that the Marechal de Boisdhyver was a guest at the Inn at the Red Oak.
Moving rapidly along near to the house, was a little figure wrapped in a dark cloak, which looked to Tom for all the world like the Marquis de Boisdhyver. For the moment he had the impulse to call to him by name, but the conversation he had so recently had with Dan flashed into his mind, and he decided to keep still and watch.
The General Pointelle, who was at the Inn at the Red Oak in 1814, was in reality the Marechal de Boisdhyver, the father of your foster-sister Nancy. She is truly Eloise de Boisdhyver. The Marechal returned to France to support the Emperor, as he wrote to madame your good mother; and he fell, as I told you, on the field of Waterloo.
With tremendous effort to conceal his agitation and annoyance, Tom resumed his reading. Monsieur de Boisdhyver glanced at him for a moment with a little air of interrogation, then shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned again to his French paper.
The Marquis glanced nonchalantly at his watch, "In fifteen minutes, monsieur." "It will be ready, Marquis." "Your very obedient servant; Monsieur Frost." "Your obedient servant, Marquis de Boisdhyver." The old gentleman bowed again with elaborate courtesy and, turning sharply on his heel, left the room. Somewhat disturbed by the turn affairs had taken, Dan stood for a moment lost in thought.
My father, if this Marquis de Boisdhyver was my father, was one of the Emperor Napoleon's marshals and was a party to the plot to rescue the Emperor from Elba. He was obliged to return to France, and since it was impossible for him to take me with him I was a little girl of two at the time he left me with Mrs. Frost.
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