‘’Tis bad enough without this from you, Phil,’ said Berenger, faintly, for he was far too much spent for resentment or self-defence, and had only kept up before the Chevalier by dint of strong effort.  Philip was somewhat aghast, both at the involuntary gesture of pain, and at finding there was not even spirit to be angry with him:  but his very dismay served at the moment only to feed his displeasure; and he tramped off in his heavy boots, which he chose to wear as a proof of disdain for his companions.  He explained that M. de Ribaumont was too much fatigued to come to supper, and he was accordingly marched along the corridor, with the steward before him bearing a lighted torch, and two gendarmes with halberds behind him.  And in his walk he had ample time for, first, the resolution that illness, and not dejection, should have all the credit of Berenger’s absence; then for recollecting of how short standing had been his brother’s convalescence; and lastly, for a fury of self-execration for his own unkindness, rude taunts, and neglect of the recurring illness.  He would have turned about and gone back at once, but the two gendarmes were close behind, and he knew Humfrey would attend to his brother; so he walked on to the hall—­a handsome chamber, hung with armour and spoils of hunting, with a few pictures on the panels, and a great carved music-gallery at one end.  The table was laid out somewhat luxuriously for four, according to the innovation which was beginning to separate the meals of the grandees from those of their household.

Great concern was expressed by the Chevalier, as Philip, in French, much improved since the time of his conversation with Madame de Selinville, spoke of his brother’s indisposition, saying with emphasis, as he glared at Captain Delarue, that Maitre Pare had forbidden all exposure to mid-day heat, and that all their journeys had been made in morning or evening coolness.  ‘My young friend,’ as his host called him, ’should, he was assured, have mentioned this, since Captain Delarue had no desire but to make his situation as little painful as possible.’  And the Chevalier sent his steward at once to offer everything the house contained that his prisoner could relish for supper; and then anxiously questioned Philip on his health and diet, obtaining very short and glum answers.  The Chevalier and the captain glanced at each other with little shrugs; and Philip, becoming conscious of his shock hair, splashed doublet, and dirty boots, had vague doubts whether his English dignity were not being regarded as English lubberliness; but, of course, he hated the two Frenchmen all the more, and received their civility with greater gruffness.  They asked him the present object of his journey—­though, probably, the Chevalier knew it before, and he told of the hope that they had of finding the child at Lucon.

‘Vain, of course?’ said the Chevalier.  ’Poor infant!  It is well for itself, as for the rest of us, that its troubles were ended long ago.’