I was sad for many days after parting with René, for our mutual love for Marie Louise, which neither avowed but both suspected, formed a tie and community of spirit between us. Yet the tidings he had given me were not calculated to rouse my spirit or make me happy. She was indeed lost to me for ever; and now I had nothing to look forward to but steadily dedicating myself to the desperate profession of a soldier of fortune. At times a burst of anger and anxiety seized me--anger at the facility which made her yield to a union so absurd, and anxiety lest this mere child D'Alsace might grow up a very Pappenheim in temper and morality; one who might lead a wife, ten years his senior, a life of anything but happiness and peace. Amid such speculations as these, Patrick Gordon, the Marechal de Logis, found me one evening, and summoned me to the presence of the Marquis de Gordon, who occupied the house of the Bailiff of Schlettstadt, a comfortable mansion, which he shared with Dundrennan and some others of the Guard. I found him seated at table, with several letters and a good bottle of Rhenish before him. 'Blane,' said he, 'I have the happiness to acquaint you that I have here letters from his Eminence Cardinal Richelieu, and from Sir Archibald Acheson of Glencairn, the Secretary of State in Scotland, announcing that your patrimonial estate of Blanerne is restored to you, together with the Bailerie of Tungland Abbey, and the Captainry of Carlaverock as possessed by your father Sir Arthur, and that now you are free to return and hang your sword under the roof where you first saw the light; but where I may warn you it will not hang long; for a day is coming--and coming fast, too--when Scotland will need all her sons and all their swords to defend her.' 'When that day comes, Marquis, I shall not fail her,' said I. 'Nor I,' added our white-headed Marechal de Logis, with a kindling eye. 'I give you my warmest thanks, dear Marquis, for these most welcome tidings.' 'What, of a probable war at home?' 'No; of the reversal of that most unjust and cruel act of proscription which was passed against me. So Madame la Comtesse d'Amboise did not forget me?' 'My dear fellow,' said the Marquis, laughing, 'Clara never forgets a lover so near the Rhine, and so far from the Bastille, if I may say so.' 'Marquis, I swear to you----' 'Do not swear, my friend,' continued the gay Gordon, 'for I will not even then believe you. The deuce! no woman would make such a fuss with a handsome young fellow as she did with you, and give him a Spanish barb worth six hundred crowns of the sun, without feeling something more than mere friendship for him. But I have nothing to do with all this. You are now free, Blane--free to leave the old Garde du Corps Ecossais of a thousand gallant memories--free to go home to Scotland, our dear fatherland, if you will.'