Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) by Samantha Kaye Page B
Authors: Samantha Kaye
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than just his intellect.
“There can be no accommodation with those who corrupt the purity of our blood. The Chevalier d’Argentolle is no better than the slaves in the field, despite his pretty clothes and fine manners,” Madame Dupluie declared.
“Mesdames, Mademoiselle, Monsieur. What is all this talk of corruption? I had presumed myself to be the expert on that subject,” Monsignor Arnaud said affably as he arrived to join the party, enlarging the gathering with his presence and his intellect.
“Ah, just the man we need! We were discussing the Chevalier d’Argentolle, the youngest son of the Marquis de Blaise. Were you not in charge of his education before he was sent to France?” Tollaincourt asked the aging but still energetic priest.
Monsignor Arnaud was dressed in the long grey robes of his office. A large silver crucifix hung from a chain around his neck, which he fingered from time to time as he spoke. He had a kind face, with deep furrows earned from long hours spent in prayer and with his books, which he loved most among all the things of the world. His understanding of ancient languages was renowned in the Church, and despite his age, his eyes still burned with a zeal for knowledge and discovery. For many years he had been the principal tutor to the Montferraud household, in addition to his usual duties of administering to the local parish flock at Caracol.
“I was indeed the boy’s tutor, Monsieur, and still am, though I confess his intellect now surpasses even my abilities,” Arnaud said.
“Such false modesty does you little credit Monsignor, and him to whom you offer it none at all. Your scholarship and knowledge of languages is well known. What could the boy have achieved to equal you in the least?” Madame Dupluie replied, certain the priest’s statements were made only to flatter an important patron.
“You have met the chevalier?” Arnaud asked.
“Not directly, Monsignor, nor would I wish to. But from what I have heard…”
“Perhaps then your opinions should await experience enough to give them more weight than the thin air of blind conjecture, Madame. I exhibit no false praise when I speak of the boy’s talents, nor as a servant of the Lord am I prone to exaggeration out of habit. I judge based only on what I have observed of young Nicolas through the years. You have but to give him a book today and he is master of it tomorrow. Investigate him upon it and he can quote in brevity or at length from any passage you may ask him to recall. Show him a map or a figure and it is committed at once to his memory, and as for languages…”
Monsignor Arnaud stopped to chuckle.
“I used to interrogate the chevalier by asking him questions in one of three languages. He would have to respond according to my whim, in the tongue I chose. Naturally, I selected the choice I believed to be most difficult for him. I admit in his youth I did trouble the boy at length with my methods, but now he has turned the tables on me entirely, having at last acquired more languages than I have been able to master, and a greater facility than I in those we have in common. I have been trying for some time to get Monsieur de Blaise to commit his future to the Church, but so far without definitive success.”
“I hear he left Brienne early, under rather questionable circumstances,” Tollaincourt interjected.
“Yes he did leave early, but not for the reasons many suppose. The truth was they had no more to teach him. Mark my words and the opinions of his teachers at the academy—young d’Argentolle is destined to make something of a reputation for himself, whatever the debates on the fine points of his ancestry. Even there, let me assure you, in all matters of greatness—of bravery, honor, character—he is entirely his father’s son, and in beauty, wit, and generosity of soul, he is his mother’s. I have not often encountered a lady of such refinement, gentle manners, or delightful mien, nor a more
“There can be no accommodation with those who corrupt the purity of our blood. The Chevalier d’Argentolle is no better than the slaves in the field, despite his pretty clothes and fine manners,” Madame Dupluie declared.
“Mesdames, Mademoiselle, Monsieur. What is all this talk of corruption? I had presumed myself to be the expert on that subject,” Monsignor Arnaud said affably as he arrived to join the party, enlarging the gathering with his presence and his intellect.
“Ah, just the man we need! We were discussing the Chevalier d’Argentolle, the youngest son of the Marquis de Blaise. Were you not in charge of his education before he was sent to France?” Tollaincourt asked the aging but still energetic priest.
Monsignor Arnaud was dressed in the long grey robes of his office. A large silver crucifix hung from a chain around his neck, which he fingered from time to time as he spoke. He had a kind face, with deep furrows earned from long hours spent in prayer and with his books, which he loved most among all the things of the world. His understanding of ancient languages was renowned in the Church, and despite his age, his eyes still burned with a zeal for knowledge and discovery. For many years he had been the principal tutor to the Montferraud household, in addition to his usual duties of administering to the local parish flock at Caracol.
“I was indeed the boy’s tutor, Monsieur, and still am, though I confess his intellect now surpasses even my abilities,” Arnaud said.
“Such false modesty does you little credit Monsignor, and him to whom you offer it none at all. Your scholarship and knowledge of languages is well known. What could the boy have achieved to equal you in the least?” Madame Dupluie replied, certain the priest’s statements were made only to flatter an important patron.
“You have met the chevalier?” Arnaud asked.
“Not directly, Monsignor, nor would I wish to. But from what I have heard…”
“Perhaps then your opinions should await experience enough to give them more weight than the thin air of blind conjecture, Madame. I exhibit no false praise when I speak of the boy’s talents, nor as a servant of the Lord am I prone to exaggeration out of habit. I judge based only on what I have observed of young Nicolas through the years. You have but to give him a book today and he is master of it tomorrow. Investigate him upon it and he can quote in brevity or at length from any passage you may ask him to recall. Show him a map or a figure and it is committed at once to his memory, and as for languages…”
Monsignor Arnaud stopped to chuckle.
“I used to interrogate the chevalier by asking him questions in one of three languages. He would have to respond according to my whim, in the tongue I chose. Naturally, I selected the choice I believed to be most difficult for him. I admit in his youth I did trouble the boy at length with my methods, but now he has turned the tables on me entirely, having at last acquired more languages than I have been able to master, and a greater facility than I in those we have in common. I have been trying for some time to get Monsieur de Blaise to commit his future to the Church, but so far without definitive success.”
“I hear he left Brienne early, under rather questionable circumstances,” Tollaincourt interjected.
“Yes he did leave early, but not for the reasons many suppose. The truth was they had no more to teach him. Mark my words and the opinions of his teachers at the academy—young d’Argentolle is destined to make something of a reputation for himself, whatever the debates on the fine points of his ancestry. Even there, let me assure you, in all matters of greatness—of bravery, honor, character—he is entirely his father’s son, and in beauty, wit, and generosity of soul, he is his mother’s. I have not often encountered a lady of such refinement, gentle manners, or delightful mien, nor a more
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