riage. He had
even complimented Jack upon it years before at Baden, when scenes enough
tragic, enough comical, ma foi, had taken place apropos of this affair.
Why should he meddle with it now?

"Children dishonoured," said I, "honest families made miserable; for
Heaven's sake, Florac, let us stay this catastrophe if we can." I spoke
with much warmth, eagerly desirous to avert this calamity if possible,
and very strongly moved by the tale which I had heard only just before
dinner from that noble and innocent creature, whose pure heart had
already prompted her to plead the cause of right and truth, and to try
and rescue an unhappy desperate sister trembling on the verge of ruin.

"If you will not write to him," said I, in some heat, "if your grooms
don't like to go out of a night" (this was one of the objections which
Florac had raised), "I will walk." We were talking over the affair
rather late in the evening, the ladies having retreated to their
sleeping apartments, and some guests having taken leave, whom our
hospitable host and hostess had entertained that night, and before whom
I naturally did not care to speak upon a subject so dangerous.

"Parbleu, what virtue, my friend! what a Joseph!" cries Florac, puffing
his cigar. "One sees well that your wife had made you the sermon. My
poor Pendennis! You are henpecked, my pauvre bon! You become the husband
model. It is true my mother writes that thy wife is an angel!"

"I do not object to obey such a woman when she bids me do right," I
said; and would indeed at that woman's request have gone out upon
the errand, but that we here found another messenger. On days when
dinner-parties were held at Rosebury, certain auxiliary waiters used to
attend from Newcome whom the landlord of the King's Arms was accustomed
to supply; indeed, it was to secure these, and make other necessary
arrangements respecting fish, game, etc., that the Prince de Moncontour
had ridden over to Newcome on the day when we met Lord Highgate, alias
Mr. Harris, before the bar of the hotel. Whilst we were engaged in the
above conversation a servant enters, and says, "My lord, Jenkins and the
other man is going back to Newcome in their cart, and is there anything
wanted?"

"It is the Heaven which sends him," says Florac, turning round to me
with a laugh; "make Jenkins to wait five minutes, Robert; I have to
write to a gentleman at the King's Arms." And so saying, Florac wrote a
line which he showed me, an