Lord Montagu's Page. G. P. R. James

and was rubbing his eyes with a certain doubtfulness whether he would lie down again or not, when his door opened, and the soldier appeared, supporting a boy dressed in a loose black velvet overcoat, and asking, "Pray, sir, is this your page?"

      Edward started forward at once and took her hand, answering, "Certainly. How came he here?"

      The man was about to reply; but as he uttered the first words Lucette began to sink, and the color quite forsook her lips. Edward caught her in his arms before she fell and laid her gently on the bed from which he had just risen, saying, "Send Pierrot here, good sir—my servant, I mean."

      The man smiled slightly, but departed; and, before Pierrot appeared, Lucette somewhat revived, saying, in a low, faint voice, "I am so tired, Edward, and have been so frightened. I fear I may have betrayed you by my weakness."

      "Get some wine, Pierrot!" exclaimed the lad, as the man entered. "Or stay you here, and I will see for it myself. Fear not, dear Lucette. All will go well."

      They were vague words of comfort enough—such as a man speaks when his only trust is in Providence; yet they comforted Lucette. And some water which Pierrot held to her lips did her good also; but, to tell the truth, that which revived her most was the reappearance of Edward Langdale. He brought wine with him—the first he could find; but he could hardly pour out a glassful when the good mistress of the house entered and stayed his hand, saying, "Leave her to me, young gentleman. Do not be foolish. Your secret shall be safe with me, upon my honor—if it be a secret; but all the world can see this is no boy. I have girls myself, and will treat her like a daughter." And, gently putting the two men out, she shut and locked the door.

CHAPTER XI.

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      "My good sir," said Edward Langdale, addressing the chief of the guard, whom he found conversing with two troopers whom he had not before seen—"my good sir, I think it will be necessary for me to change my mode of travelling. I have just recovered from a severe illness, and am still weak. So much riding on horseback fatigues me, as you may see by my long sleep this day; and I would be glad if I could procure a coach. You can guard us as well, or better then than if we continue as we have begun. Why are you smiling?"

      The last words had a slight tone of iritation in them; for Edward had remarked a previous smile with which the man had brought Lucette into his chamber, and he had arrived at that point on the road to love where one feels vexed at the very thought of any reflection upon a sweetheart's name or character.

      But the soldier answered, civilly, "I was thinking, sir, that if you can, being sick and weak, keep such a tight hold as you did last night upon Guillaume Bheel's wrist, what sort of a grip you must take when you are well and strong. But, as to a carrosse, there is none in the village, and we shall have to send to Aligre, or Marans, as it is sometimes called, to get one; and Aligre is three leagues off. However, we can very well stop the night if you please."

      "Well, have the kindness to send for one," said the youth: "there is a piece of gold for the messenger, and I will pay the owner well. Let it be here early—by daybreak, if possible; for I am anxious to arrive at Nantes soon, as I shall certainly be liberated from this sort of captivity there."

      It were vain to deny that the arrival of Lucette, while it relieved his mind considerably in one respect, embarrassed it considerably in another. Lucette was safe; but could he answer that she would continue so? What was he to do with her? What would become of her at Nantes if he were imprisoned there, or perhaps executed? All these questions he put to himself; and they were difficult to answer. Still, to treat the matter commercially, when he put down on the one side of the account all the difficulties and dangers, and on the other the happiness of knowing she was safe, and the delight of having her with him, he could not for the life of him think the balance was against him. But then it was evident that poor Lucette's disguise had not the effect of a disguise at all, and Edward was as thoughtful of her reputation as a prude. Oh, sweet delicacy of early youth, how soon thou art rubbed off in the grating commerce of the world! I fear me that it rarely happens—with men, at least—that the soft bloom remains on the plum a day after it is separated from the parent tree. Yet it was so with Edward still; for he had hitherto had to deal with the harder, not the softer, things of life; and his nascent love for Lucette rendered the feeling still more fine and sensitive. Sequiter Deum, however, could only be his motto; for at present he had no power over his own fate.

      With these thoughts and feelings he returned to the door of the room where he had slept so long, and knocked for admission, which was given at once.

      "She is getting quite well now," said the good landlady, "but you will have to stay here to-night, for she is too tired to go farther."

      Edward explained that he had sent for a coach, which could not arrive till the following morning, and, sitting down beside Lucette, began to converse with her in English, while the landlady continued at the table listening to the strange language, and apparently trying if she could make any thing of it. In that tongue Lucette, whose sweet lips had regained their color and her beautiful eyes their sparkle, told him all that had happened to her since he had left her—how, with anxiety and fear, she had remained in her place of concealment hour after hour till near the dawn of day—how good Jacques Beaupré had tried to console and comfort her in vain, till at length suspense became unendurable, and she had determined to go forth and try to pass the royalist lines herself—how Jacques had remonstrated—how she had persisted, and how she had not gone three hundred yards before she was challenged, stopped, and taken to the little house occupied by Monsieur de Lude, who commanded in that quarter. Her companion, she said, had disappeared at the very moment of her own arrest, and she did not know what had become of him. Monsieur de Lude, however, was an elderly man and very courteous, who asked her a number of questions.

      "And what, in Heaven's name, did you tell him, dear Lucette?" asked Edward.

      "Not much," replied the sweet girl. "I determined at once that I would speak no French; and, as he could speak no English, he gained nothing from me. At length he put pen and paper before me, and made signs to me to write down who and what I was. I then wrote that I was your page, who had remained behind you, being frightened, but who, repenting of my cowardice, had come on, thinking to overtake you. The old gentleman sent for some of his officers who knew a little English; and between them they made out what I had written."

      "Did you write my own name, dear girl?" asked Edward, with some anxiety.

      "Nay," replied Lucette, "I wrote the name you told us was in your pass—Sir Peter Apsley—and I described you as well as I could. Then, to my great joy, I heard Monsieur de Lude say to the officers, 'I am afraid we have made a mistake in stopping him. That was clearly the cardinal's safe-conduct; and we must send the page after him. Richelieu dislikes too much as well as too little zeal; and, on my life, it is likely we shall be scolded for not having properly reverenced his signature.' I do think, dear Edward, I could have persuaded him to let us all go on our way, if I had dared to speak French to him; but, after having pretended not to understand a word, I was afraid."

      Now, good casuists have clearly shown two things—that it is perfectly justifiable to deceive on some occasions, and that we had better not do it on any. The present is a good elucidation. If ever a girl was justified in feigning, Lucette was so; but still she got nothing by it, except a long ride in the way she did not want to go, and she lost all the advantages of her little innocent trick by the very trick itself. So it seems to me, at least—although there may be people who differ with me on the subject, and, if so, I beg to state that I will not enter with them into a further discussion of the subject, at least on paper.

      One advantage, however, which neither Edward nor Lucette then knew, but which had accrued from her interview with Monsieur de Lude, was this: the officers had let the men understand that they were all very doubtful as to whether they had done right or wrong in ignoring the name of Richelieu—then becoming very terrible—written at the bottom of the safe-conduct, and that therefore the young gentleman and his suite were to be treated with the utmost respect and consideration.