She was the chief disappointment to me. I had expected to find, not
indeed my little playfellow, but my own loving sister Nan; and this
young lady was like a stranger. I thought, too, my mother would have
been less lively, she seemed to me to have forgotten everything in
the satisfaction of being at Paris. At first I feared she was
looking at me with displeasure, but presently I observed that she had
discarded her widow's veil, and looked annoyed that I still wore
mine. Otherwise she was agreeable surprised in me, and turned to M.
de Solivet, saying:
'Yes, my son, you are right, she is belle, assez belle; and when she
is dressed and has no more that provincial air, she will do very
well.'
It was Eustace, my brother, who gave me unmixed delight that evening,
unmixed save for his look of delicate health, for that he should be
graver was only suitable to my feelings, and we knew that we were in
perfect sympathy with one another whenever our eyes met, as of old,
while we had hardly exchanged a word. And then, how gracious and
gentle he was with poor little Madame d'Aubepine, who looked up to
him like a little violet at the food of a poplar tree!
Supper passed in inquires after kinsfolk and old friends. Alas! of
how many the answer was--slain, missing since such a battle. In
prison, ruined, and brought to poverty, seemed to be the best I could
hear of any one I inquired after. That Walwyn was not yet utterly
lost seemed to be owing to Harry Merrycourt.
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