‘Very sad! isn’t it? But it would be foolish of me to go, especially as they don’t want me. Well, just as I was swearing at this—I beg your pardon, ladies, I mean just as I was reviling my ill-luck—in walks your good father there, to whom I confide my difficulty, telling him, at the same time, that if I can secure comfortable quarters at St. Pucelle, I think of taking up my abode there for a short time, in order to have some forest shooting. Now you can guess all the rest. Mr. Lovett, with his usual benevolence, offers me the shelter of his roof for as long as I can behave myself, and his friend the Baron de Nesselrode has kindly volunteered to be my guide through the Piron. What a number of accidents, all coming together, conduce to this pleasant meeting! Well, I suppose it _was_ to be, Miss Marsh, and I, for one, have every reason to congratulate myself that it has occurred.’ I tried to say that it pleased me also, though the lie left my faltering tongue but tamely. ‘You have an engagement with De Nesselrode to-morrow morning, I believe?’ remarked Mr. Lovett. ‘Yes; that is the reason of my sudden appearance here. He wrote me word that they have got up a boar-hunt in the forest for the day after to-morrow, and I was anxious to see what sort of a mount I could get in St. Pucelle. I do not wish to send to Rille or Brussels, unless it is absolutely necessary. Are there any horses to be hired about here?’ ‘None to be hired, but plenty to be bought.’ ‘It makes no difference to me; indeed, I would prefer to purchase if I can get a place to keep the animal in.’ ‘We have an excellent stable and cowshed adjoining the house, which are both at your service, being, unfortunately for us, empty.’ ‘That is settled, then; and will suit me far better than the hiring system. If I remain here, as I hope to do, for a few months, I should not care to be riding a different animal every day.’ ‘And the horse you will purchase here will serve your purpose better than any town-bred animal. It takes a stout-hearted little beast, I can assure you, not to turn tail in forest-shooting. But here it seems bred in their bone. Even our sheep-dogs have wolf-blood in them, and will attack anything.’ ‘I anticipate any amount of pleasure in the forest,’ said Mr. Charteris; ‘and if your friend Monsieur de Nesselrode is half as courteous as his letters, I am sure we shall get on well together.’ ‘He is a thoroughbred gentleman,’ replied my guardian; ‘one of the _ancienne noblesse_, who are so fast dying out of France. He is expatriated for the present—the Château des Roses having been one of the shooting-boxes of the family—but when he comes into his own again, there will not be a finer courtier throughout the length and breadth of the land.’ ‘So Miss Markham has given me to understand. She has often mentioned the Baron de Nesselrode to me.’ ‘Oh! do you know Sophy Markham? cried Ange, with a childish giggle. Cave Charteris took her cue at once.