I reached the inn to find by the door a coach, and by that coach Andrea; he
stood bareheaded, despite the cold, conversing, with all outward semblances
of profound respect, with those within it.
So engrossed was he and so ecstatic, that my approach was unheeded, and
when presently I noted that the coach was Mademoiselle de Canaples's, I
ceased to wonder at the boy's unconsciousness of what took place around
him.
Clearly the farrier had been found at last, and the horse shod afresh
during my absence. Loath to interrupt so pretty a scene, I waited, aloof,
until these adieux should be concluded, and whilst I waited there came to
me from the carriage a sweet, musical voice that was not Yvonne's.
"May we not learn at least, Monsieur, the name of the gentleman to whose
courtesy we are indebted for having spent the past two hours without
discomfort?"
"My name, Mademoiselle, is Andrea de Mancini, that of the humblest of your
servants, and one to whom your thanks are a more than lavish payment for
the trivial service he may have been fortunate enough to render you."
Dame! What glibness doth a tongue acquire at Court!
"M.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93