Madame de Florac had spoken
especially, and much more freely than was her wont. She had told many
reminiscences of Thomas Newcome, and his early days; how her father
taught him mathematics when they were quite poor, and living in their
dear little cottage at Blackheath; how handsome he was then, with bright
eyes, and long black hair flowing over his shoulders; how military glory
was his boyish passion, and he was for ever talking of India, and the
famous deeds of Clive and Lawrence. His favourite book was a history of
India--the history of Orme. "He read it, and I read it also, my
daughter," the French lady said, turning to Ethel; "ah! I may say so
after so many years."
Ethel remembered the book as belonging to her grandmother, and now in the
library at Newcome. Doubtless the same sympathy which caused me to speak
about Thomas Newcome that evening, impelled my wife likewise. She told
her friends, as I had told Florac, all the Colonel's story; and it was
while these good women were under the impression of the melancholy
history, that Florac and his guest found them.
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