I had to travel in the great coach with M. le Marquis, the three
ladies, and all our women, where I was so dull and weary that I
should have felt ready to die, but for watching for my husband's
plume, or now and then getting a glance and a nod from him as he rode
among the other gentlemen, braving all their laughter at his
devotion; for, bashful as he was, he knew how to hold his own.
I knew that the ladies looked on me as an ugly little rustic
foreigner, full of English mauvaise honte. If they tried to be kind
to me, it was as a mere child; and they went on with their chatter,
which I could hardly follow, for it was about things and people of
which I knew nothing, so that I could not understand their laughter.
Or when they rejoiced in their return from what they called their
exile, and found fault with all they had left in England, my cheeks
burned with indignation.
My happy hours were when we halted for refreshments. My husband
handed me to my place at table and sat beside me; or he would walk
with me about the villages where we rested. The ladies were shocked,
and my husband was censured for letting me 'faire l'Anglaise,' but we
were young and full of spirits, and the being thus thrown on each
other had put an end to his timidity towards me. He did indeed blush
up to his curls, and hold himself as upright as a ramrod, when satire
was directed to us as Celadon and Chloe; but he never took any other
notice of it, nor altered his behaviour in consequence.
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