we will do our best to make up.
You, sir, must be his _trucheman_.'

Philip, not catching the last word, and wondering what kind of man that
might be, made answer, 'I am his brother, Madame.'

'_Eh! Monsieur son frere_. Had _Madame sa mere_ a son so old?'

'I am Philip Thistlewood, her husband's son, at your service, Madame,'
said Philip, colouring up to the ears; 'I came with him for he is too
weak to be alone.'

'Great confidence must be reposed in you, sir,' she said, with a not
unflattering surprise. 'But whence are you come? I little looked to see
Monsieur here.'

'We came from Anjou, Madame. We went to La Sablerie,' and he broke off.

'I understand. Ah! let us say no more! It rends the heart;' and again
she wiped away tear. 'And now---'

'We are coming to the Ambassador's to obtain'--he stopped, for
Berenger gave him a touch of peremptory warning, but the lady saved his
embarrassment by exclaiming that she could not let her dear cousin go to
the Ambassador's when he was among his own kindred. Perhaps Monsieur did
not know her; she must present herself as Madame de Selinville, _nee_ de
Ribaumont, a poor cousin of _ce cher Baron_, 'and even a little to you,
_M. le frere_, if you will own me,' and she held out a hand, which he
ought to have kissed, but not knowing how, he only shook it. She further
explained that her brother was at Cracow with Monsieur, now King of
Poland, but that her father lived with her at her hotel, and would be
enchanted to see his dear cousin, only that he, like herself, would be
desolated at the effects of that most miserable of errors. She had
been returning from her Advent retreat at a convent, where she had
been praying for the soul of the late M. de Selinville, when a true
Providence had made her remark the colours of her family. And now,
nothing would serve her, but that this dear Baron should be carried at
once to their hotel, which was much nearer than that of the Ambassador,
and where every comfort should await him. She clasped her hands in
earnest entreaty, and Philip, greatly touched by her kindness and
perceiving that every jolt of the splendid by springless vehicle caused
Berenger's head a shoot of anguish, was almost acceding to her offer,
when he was checked by one of the most imperative of those silent
negatives. Hitherto, Master Thistlewood had been rather proud of his bad
French, and as long as he could be understood, considered trampling on
genders, tenses, and moods