“Never fear; I enjoy this Proteus sort of life extremely, and you may expect to see me in some new shape, before long.”

“Your own shape is far better than any you can assume,” said De Valette; “and by these silken locks, which, if I had looked at, I must have known, you cannot impose on me again.”

“Twice deceived, beware of the third time,” said the page, laughing; and, breaking from De Valette, he was in a moment on the threshold of the door.

“Here is a newly made priest, as I live!” said La Tour, catching the page by his arm, and drawing him back a few paces.  “But methinks your step is too quick and buoyant, my gentle youth, for your vocation.”

The page made no reply, but drooping his head, suffered a profusion of dark ringlets to fall over his face, as if purposely to conceal his features.

“This would be a pretty veil for a girl,” said La Tour, parting the hair from his forehead; “but, by my troth, these curls are out of place, on the head of a grave priest; the shaved crown would better become a disciple of the austere father Gilbert.—­What, mute still, my little anchorite?  Speak, if thou hast not a vow of silence on thee!”

“And if I have,” said the page, pettishly, “I must break it, though it should cost me a week’s penance!”

“Ha! my lady’s soi-disant page!” exclaimed La Tour, struck by the sound of his voice,—­which, in the excitement of the moment, he had not attempted to disguise,—­and drawing him towards a lamp, he bent his searching eye full upon the boy’s face.

“I pray you let me begone, my lady waits for me,” said the page, impatiently.

“A pretty, antic trick!” continued La Tour, without regarding his entreaty, “and played off, no doubt, for some sage purpose!  Look, Eustace!” he added, laughing, “but have a care, that you do not become enamoured of the holy orders!”

“Look till you are weary!” said Hector, reddening with vexation; and dashing his scarf and rosary to the ground, he hastily unfastened the collar of his long, black vest, and throwing it from him, stood before them, dressed as a page, in proud and indignant silence.

“Why, you blush like a girl, Hector,” said La Tour, tauntingly; “though I think, by the flashing of your eye, it is rather from anger, than shame.  Look, Mr. Stanhope, what think you of our gentle page, and ci-devant priest?”

Mr. Stanhope was regarding him, with an attention, which rendered him heedless of the question; he met the eye of Hector, and instantly the boy’s cheeks were blanched with a deadly paleness, which was rapidly followed by a glow of the deepest crimson.  An exclamation trembled on Stanhope’s lips, but he forcibly repressed it, and his embarrassment was unremarked.  De Valette had noticed Hector’s changing complexion, and, naturally attributing it to the confusion occasioned by a stranger’s presence, he took his hand with an expression of kindness, though greatly surprised to feel it tremble within his own.