He addressed himself, however, chiefly to his host. “You forget,” said he, “that I have been living in the seclusion of a cloister. Though I have carried a sword and kept my watch under your command, and spent almost the happiest days of my life in your company, I was a priest before I was a Musketeer, and a priest I must always remain. Nevertheless, even at St. Omer, we are not utterly severed from the world and its vanities; and though we do not participate in them, we hear them freely canvassed. The first news, of course, for madame (pardon! I must learn to call you by your English name—for Lady Hamilton), regards the despotism of King Chiffon. The farthingale is worn more oval; diamond buckles are gone out; it is bad taste just now to carry a fan anywhere except to church.” In spite of his agitation he adopted a light tone of jest befitting the subject—for was he not a Jesuit?—and stole a look at Cerise while he spoke. Many a time had he dreamt of a lovely girl blooming into womanhood, in the Convent of our Lady of Succour. Ever since the tumult of her hasty wedding, after the escape from _Cash-a-crou_, he had been haunted by a pale, sweet, agitated face, on which he had invoked a blessing at the altar from the depths of his tortured heart; but what did he think of her now? She had reached that queenly standard to which women only attain after marriage; and while she had lost none of her early charms, her frankness, her simplicity, her radiant smile, her deep truthful eyes, she had added to them that gentle dignity, that calm, assured repose of manner, which completes the graces of mature womanhood, and adorns the wedded wife as fitly as her purple robe becomes a queen. She could look him in the face quietly and steadily enough; but while his very heart thrilled at her voice, his eyes fell, as though dazzled, beneath her beauty. “You forget, monsieur,” said she, with an affectionate glance at her husband, “I am an Englishwoman now; and we have deeper interests here even than the change of fashions and the revolutions in the kingdom of dress. Besides, mamma keeps me informed on all such subjects, as well as those of more importance; but she is in Touraine now, and I am quite in the dark as regards everything at Paris; above all, the political state of the Court. You see we are no longer Musketeers.” She smiled playfully at George, in allusion to the sentiment he had lately broached, and looked, Florian thought, lovelier than ever.