But the not very refined cuisine of Ashley Court was the only feature in its hospitality open to criticism. The family had proved the kindest and most thoughtful of hosts. Amelia’s tact prevented the Marquise from feeling, as she might have done, the delicacy of her position in a household ruled by her young unmarried niece. Sir William kept open house, and all through the autumn, what with shooting parties, guests staying at the Court—of whom Madame Gaumont had been one—and occasional visits of ceremony from other _émigrés_ in the neighbourhood, dullness was successfully held at bay. And though with George Lucienne never attained any degree of intimacy, with Amelia she soon became fast friends. One bond which drew her to Miss Ashley was the fact that the English girl had known both Gilbert and Louis. Not that Lucienne wished to be always talking about the former, like Madame de Château-Foix, who was only really happy, so Amelia surmised, when speaking of her son. Indeed it had struck Amelia on one or two occasions that Lucienne might have displayed more interest than she did in some recital of her future mother-in-law’s. It never occurred to Miss Ashley that there was one person conversation about whom never failed to interest Mademoiselle d’Aucourt. But then there was never in the nature of things a great deal of talk about Louis de Saint-Ermay, who was merely a connection of the household. Lucienne, however, soon contrived that there should be more. “And what did Louis do when he was over here?” she would ask, as she and Amelia walked alone about the lanes—a freedom so strange to the French girl—or sat in each other’s rooms at bedtime. “Oh, he amused himself; he wore a different costume every day and rode about with George and Cousin Gilbert; he—— Really I can’t remember,” the unsuspecting Amelia would reply. “I was only sixteen, you know. I chiefly recollect how gay and amusing he was, and how good-looking. I believe I was rather in love with him.” Amelia’s own heart could best tell her why she soiled her lips with that last gratuitous lie. Yet if Lucienne had tried she would have found that Gilbert’s doings were much better stored in Miss Ashley’s memory. But she never made the experiment. Instead, she would relate to Amelia, with all the carelessness of which she was mistress, anecdotic fragments relating to the Vicomte de Saint-Ermay. Had Amelia ever heard that he was considered the handsomest young man in the bodyguard; that when he was a boy in the royal pages the Queen had specially noticed him; that he had fought three duels before he was one-and-twenty; that for a wager he had once swum the whole length of the Grand Canal at Versailles, an exploit which had procured him a fortnight’s arrest? And sometimes, in return Amelia would repay herself for listening to these reminiscences by drawing out of Lucienne, half against her own will, details about Gilbert’s daily life—as far as Lucienne knew them.