that she was fatigued, and desired repose. But,
of course, before Clement set off, he was bound to wish her farewell, and
to ask for her blessing. In order to avoid an agitating conversation
between mother and son, my lord and I resolved to be present at the
interview. Clement was already in his travelling-dress, that of a Norman
fisherman, which Monkshaven had, with infinite trouble, discovered in the
possession of one of the emigres who thronged London, and who had made
his escape from the shores of France in this disguise. Clement's plan
was, to go down to the coast of Sussex, and get some of the fishing or
smuggling boats to take him across to the French coast near Dieppe. There
again he would have to change his dress. Oh, it was so well planned! His
mother was startled by his disguise (of which we had not thought to
forewarn her) as he entered her apartment. And either that, or the being
suddenly roused from the heavy slumber into which she was apt to fall
when she was left alone, gave her manner an air of wildness that was
almost like insanity.
"'Go, go!' she said to him, almost pushing him away as he knelt to kiss
her hand. 'Virginie is beckoning to you, but you don't see what kind of
a bed it is—'
"'Clement, make haste!' said my lord, in a hurried manner, as if to
interrupt madame. 'The time is later than I thought, and you must not
miss the morning's tide. Bid your mother good-bye at once, and let us be
off.' For my lord and Monkshaven were to ride with him to an inn near
the shore, from whence he was to walk to his destination. My lord almost
took him by the arm to pull him away; and they were gone, and I was left
alone with Madame de Crequy. When she heard the horses' feet, she seemed
to find out the truth, as if for the first time. She set her teeth
together. 'He has left me for her!' she almost screamed. 'Left me for
her!' she kept muttering; and then, as the wild look came back into her
eyes, she said, almost with exultation, 'But I did not give him my
blessing!'"
Chapter VI
*
"All night Madame de Crequy raved in delirium. If I could I would have
sent for Clement back again. I did send off one man, but I suppose my
directions were confused, or they were wrong, for he came back after my
lord's return, on the following afternoon. By this time Madame de Crequy
was quieter: she was, indeed, asleep from exhaustion when Lord Ludlow and
Monkshaven came in. They were in high spirits, and their hopefulness
brought me round to a less dispirited state. All had gone well: they had
accompanied Clement on foot along the shore, until they had met with a
lugger, which my lord had hailed in good nautical language. The captain
had responded to these freemason terms by sending a boat to pick up his
passenger, and by an invitation to breakfast sent through a
speaking-trumpet. Monkshaven did not approve of either the meal or the
company, and had returned to the inn, but my lord had gone with Clement
and breakfasted on board, upon grog, biscuit, fresh-caught fish—'the
best breakfast he ever ate,' he said, but that was probably owing to the
appetite his night's ride had given him. However, his good fellowship
had evidently won the captain's heart, and Clement had set sail under the
best auspices. It was agreed that I should tell all this to Madame de
Crequy, if she inquired; otherwise, it would be wiser not to renew her
agitation by alluding to her son's journey.
"I sat with her constantly for many days; but she never spoke of Clement.
She forced herself to talk of the little occurrences of Parisian society
in former days: she tried to be conversational and agreeable, and to
betray no anxiety or even interest in the object of Clement's journey;
and, as far as unremitting efforts could go, she succeeded. But the
tones of her voice were sharp and yet piteous, as if she were in constant
pain; and the glance of her eye hurried and fearful, as if she dared not
let it rest on any object.
"In a week we heard of Clement's safe
of course, before Clement set off, he was bound to wish her farewell, and
to ask for her blessing. In order to avoid an agitating conversation
between mother and son, my lord and I resolved to be present at the
interview. Clement was already in his travelling-dress, that of a Norman
fisherman, which Monkshaven had, with infinite trouble, discovered in the
possession of one of the emigres who thronged London, and who had made
his escape from the shores of France in this disguise. Clement's plan
was, to go down to the coast of Sussex, and get some of the fishing or
smuggling boats to take him across to the French coast near Dieppe. There
again he would have to change his dress. Oh, it was so well planned! His
mother was startled by his disguise (of which we had not thought to
forewarn her) as he entered her apartment. And either that, or the being
suddenly roused from the heavy slumber into which she was apt to fall
when she was left alone, gave her manner an air of wildness that was
almost like insanity.
"'Go, go!' she said to him, almost pushing him away as he knelt to kiss
her hand. 'Virginie is beckoning to you, but you don't see what kind of
a bed it is—'
"'Clement, make haste!' said my lord, in a hurried manner, as if to
interrupt madame. 'The time is later than I thought, and you must not
miss the morning's tide. Bid your mother good-bye at once, and let us be
off.' For my lord and Monkshaven were to ride with him to an inn near
the shore, from whence he was to walk to his destination. My lord almost
took him by the arm to pull him away; and they were gone, and I was left
alone with Madame de Crequy. When she heard the horses' feet, she seemed
to find out the truth, as if for the first time. She set her teeth
together. 'He has left me for her!' she almost screamed. 'Left me for
her!' she kept muttering; and then, as the wild look came back into her
eyes, she said, almost with exultation, 'But I did not give him my
blessing!'"
Chapter VI
*
"All night Madame de Crequy raved in delirium. If I could I would have
sent for Clement back again. I did send off one man, but I suppose my
directions were confused, or they were wrong, for he came back after my
lord's return, on the following afternoon. By this time Madame de Crequy
was quieter: she was, indeed, asleep from exhaustion when Lord Ludlow and
Monkshaven came in. They were in high spirits, and their hopefulness
brought me round to a less dispirited state. All had gone well: they had
accompanied Clement on foot along the shore, until they had met with a
lugger, which my lord had hailed in good nautical language. The captain
had responded to these freemason terms by sending a boat to pick up his
passenger, and by an invitation to breakfast sent through a
speaking-trumpet. Monkshaven did not approve of either the meal or the
company, and had returned to the inn, but my lord had gone with Clement
and breakfasted on board, upon grog, biscuit, fresh-caught fish—'the
best breakfast he ever ate,' he said, but that was probably owing to the
appetite his night's ride had given him. However, his good fellowship
had evidently won the captain's heart, and Clement had set sail under the
best auspices. It was agreed that I should tell all this to Madame de
Crequy, if she inquired; otherwise, it would be wiser not to renew her
agitation by alluding to her son's journey.
"I sat with her constantly for many days; but she never spoke of Clement.
She forced herself to talk of the little occurrences of Parisian society
in former days: she tried to be conversational and agreeable, and to
betray no anxiety or even interest in the object of Clement's journey;
and, as far as unremitting efforts could go, she succeeded. But the
tones of her voice were sharp and yet piteous, as if she were in constant
pain; and the glance of her eye hurried and fearful, as if she dared not
let it rest on any object.
"In a week we heard of Clement's safe
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