Eager and lively, fair and handsome, sat the Baronne de Ribaumont,
or rather, since the higher title had been laid aside, Dame Annora
Thistlewood. The health of M. de Ribaumont had been shattered at
St. Quentin, and an inclement night of crossing the Channel had
brought on an attack on the lungs, from which he only rallied
enough to amaze his English friends at finding the gay dissipated
young Frenchman they remembered, infinitely more strict and rigid
than themselves. He was never able to leave the house again after
his first arrival at Hurst Walwyn, and sank under the cold winds of
the next spring, rejoicing to leave his wife and son, not indeed
among such strict Puritans as he preferred, but at least where the
pure faith could be openly avowed without danger.
Sir Marmaduke Thistlewood, the husband to whom Annora Walwyn had
been destined before M. de Ribaumont had crossed her path, was
about the same time left a widower with one son and daughter, and
as soon as a suitable interval had passed, she became a far happier
wife than she had been in either the Baron's gay or grave days.
Her son had continued under the roof of his grandfather, to whose
charge his father had specially committed him, and thus had been
scarcely separated from his mother, since Combe Manor was not above
three miles across the downs from Hurst Walwyn, and there was
almost daily intercourse between the families. Lucy Thistlewood
had been brought to Hurst Walwyn to be something between a maid of
honour and a pupil to the ladies there, and her brother Philip, so
soon as he was old enough, daily rode thither to share with
Berenger the instructions of the chaplain, Mr. Adderley, who on the
present occasion formed one of the conclave, sitting a little apart
as not quite familiar, though highly esteemed.
With an elbow on the table, and one hand toying with his long
riding-whip, sat, booted and spurred, the jovial figure of Sir
Marmaduke, who called out, in his hearty voice, 'A good riddance of
an outlandish Papist, say I! Read the letter, Berenger lad. No,
no, no! English it! I know nothing of your mincing French! 'Tis
the worst fault I know in you, boy, to be half a Frenchman, and
have a French name'--a fault that good Sir Marmaduke did his best
to remedy by always terming his step-son Berenger or Berry
Ribmount, and we will so far follow his example as henceforth to
give the youth the English form of his Christian name. He was by
this time a tall lad of eighteen, with straight features, honest
deep blue eyes, very fair hair cut short and brushed up to a crest
upon the middle of his head, a complexion of red and white that all
the air of the downs and the sea failed to embrown, and that
peculiar openness and candour of expression which seems so much an
English birthright, that the only trace of his French origin was,
that he betrayed no unbecoming awkwardness in the somewhat
embarrassing position in which he was placed, literally standing,
according to the respectful discipline of the time, as the subject
of discussion, before the circle of his elders. His colour was
indeed, deepened, but his attitude was easy and graceful, and he
used no stiff rigidity nor restless movements to mask his anxiety.
At Sir Marmaduke's desire, he could not but redden a good deal
more, but with a clear, unhesitating voice, he translated, the
letter that he had received from the Chevalier de Ribaumont, who,
by the Count's death, had become Eustacie's guardian. It was a
request in the name of Eustacie and her deceased father, that
Monsieur le Baron de Ribaumont--who, it was understood, had
embraced the English heresy--would concur with his spouse in
demanding from his Holiness the Pope a decree annulling the
childish marriage, which could easily be declared void, both on
account of the consanguinity of the parties and the discrepancy of
their faith; and which would leave each of them free to marry
again.