These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘My lady said a while ago that I was a boy, but ’fore Gad you make me feel a greybeard,’ he said. ‘Farewell to ye both!’ He rode on to the village, and there transacted his business. He stopped for a few minutes at the Avon Arms, and went into the coffee-room. In the doorway he ran into a tall gentleman who was coming out.

‘Your pardon, sir,’ he said, and stared in amazement. ‘Saint-Vire! Why, what do ye here, Comte? I’d no notion –’

Saint-Vire had started back angrily, but he bowed now, and if his tone was not cordial, at least he was polite.

‘Your servant, Merivale. I had not thought to see you here.’

‘Nor I you. Of all the queer places in which to meet you! What brings you here?’

Saint-Vire hesitated for a moment.

‘I am on my way to visit friends,’ he said, after a while. ‘They live – a day’s journey north of this place. My schooner is at Portsmouth.’ He spread out his hands. ‘I am forced to break my journey to recover from a slight indisposition which attacked me en route. What would you? One does not wish to arrive souffrant at the house of a friend?’

Merivale thought the story strange, and Saint-Vire’s manner stranger still, but he was too well-bred to show incredulity.

‘My dear Comte, it’s most opportune. You will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner at Merivale? I must present you to my wife.’

Again it seemed that Saint-Vire hesitated.

‘Monsieur, I resume my journey to-morrow.’

‘Well, ride out to Merivale this evening, Comte, I beg of you.’

Almost the Comte shrugged.

‘Eh bien, m’sieur, you are very kind. I thank you.’

He came that evening to Merivale and bowed deeply over Jennifer’s hand.

‘Madame, this is a great pleasure. I have long wished to meet the wife of my friend Merivale. Is it too late to felicitate, Merivale?’

Anthony laughed.

‘We are four years married, Comte.’

‘One has heard much of the beauty of Madame le Baronne,’ Saint-Vire said.

Jennifer withdrew her hand.

‘Will you be seated, monsieur? I am always glad to see my husband’s friends. For where are you bound?’

Saint-Vire waved a vague hand.

‘North, madame. I go to visit my friend – er – Chalmer.’

Merivale’s brow creased.

‘Chalmer? I don’t think I know –’

‘He lives very much in seclusion,’ explained Saint-Vire, and turned again to Jennifer. ‘Madame, I think I have never met you in Paris?’

‘No, sir, I have not been outside mine own country. My husband goes there sometimes.’

‘You should take madame,’ Saint-Vire smiled. ‘You we see often, n’est-ce pas?’

‘Not so often as of yore,’ Merivale answered. ‘My wife has no taste for town life.’

‘Ah, one understands then why you stay not long abroad these days, Merivale!’