e state bed-chamber. There on the
velvet-hung bed sat _le gros Chevalier Anglais_, whom she had herself
installed there on Saturday. Both his hands were held fast in those of
a youth who lay beside him, deadly pale, and half undressed, with the
little Ribaumont attending to a wound in his side, while her child was
held in the arms of a very tall, bald-headed young man, who stood at
the foot of the bed. The whole group of interlopers looked perfectly
glorified with happiness and delight. Even the wounded youth, ghastly
and suffering as he was, lay stroking the big Englishman's hand with
a languid, caressing air of content, almost like that of a dog who
has found his master. None of them were the least embarrassed, they
evidently thought this a visit of inquiry after the patient; and while
the Duchess stood confounded, and the Duke much inclined to laugh,
Eustacie turned eagerly, exclaiming, 'Ah! Madame, I am glad you are
come. May I beg Mademoiselle Perrot for some of your cooling mallow
salve. Riding has sadly inflamed the wound.'

'Riding--with such a wound! Are we all crazed?' said Madame la Duchesse,
absolutely bewildered out of her dignified equanimity: and her son,
seeing her for once at a loss, came to her rescue. 'His Grace will
condescend to the Andromeda Chamber, Madame. He kindly gave up his bed
to our young friend last night, when there was less choice than you can
give him.'

They all moved off again; and, before Eustacie was ready for the
mallows, Madame de Quinet, for whom the very name of a wound had
an attraction, returned with two hand-maidens bearing bandages and
medicaments, having by this time come to the perception that the wounded
youth was the son of the big Englishman who had arrived with young
Mericour in search of her little _protegee_, and that the tall man was
the husband so long supposed to be dead. She was curious to see her
pupil's surgery, of which she highly approved, though she had no words
to express her indignation at the folly of traveling so soon. Indeed,
nothing but the passiveness of fatigue could have made her despotism
endurable to Philip; but he cared for nothing so long as he could see
his father's face, and hear his voice--the full tones that his ear had
yearned for among the sharp expression of the French accent--and Sir
Marmaduke seemed to find the same perfect satisfaction in the sight of
him; indeed, all were so rejoiced to be together, that they scarcely
exerted themse