Thus saying, he pressed her to his bosom for a moment, and then passed through the postern door. He closed it not entirely, however, for some vague apprehension concerning the sweet girl he had just left behind caused him to pause and listen, till he had assured himself that the person whom he had seen approaching was no unfriendly one. In a few minutes he heard another female voice saying distinctly to Isabel, "Your lady mother, mademoiselle, desires that you would come and play to her on the lute." "I come, I come, good Maddelene," replied the voice of Isabel de Brienne; and in the clear evening air Bernard de Rohan could hear the sound of receding footsteps. CHAPTER VIII. "Has not the Count de Meyrand returned?" demanded Bernard de Rohan, as he re-entered the kitchen of the little inn, and saw it tenanted only by one or two of his own attendants, the host and hostess, and a waiting-boy. "He has not only returned, my lord," replied the landlord, "but has gone away again, and, sorry I am to say, gone away altogether. He came back, and departed in great haste, paying for all that he had like a prince." "This is strange!" replied Bernard de Rohan. "Did he leave no message for me?" "No message, my lord," replied the host; "he gave your man, Master Martin, a note for you, however; but he has just gone up the hill, and taken the note with him." "Do you know where the count has gone to?" demanded the young nobleman. "Oh, to Pont Beauvoisin, on his way to Paris," the landlord answered; "he has been gone wellnigh two hours." It is a very common piece of policy on the part of hosts, aubergistes, landlords, and others of the same class and character, by whatsoever denomination they may be known, to laud up to the skies the guest just departed, praising in him those especial virtues which they wish to inculcate upon the guest who happens to be their listener. Thus the landlord was proceeding to paint in high colours the generosity and careless liberality of the Count de Meyrand, when some persons speaking, and a loud, rich, buttery laugh, merry in every tone, announced that the good priest, Father Willand, was approaching the auberge with some companion. "We shall live like clerks now he is gone, we shall live like clerks," exclaimed the voice of the priest. "By the holy mass, he was not content with eating more than his own share of everything, but his very look changed everything that he did not eat, and turned it bad. His aspect was so cold that it chilled the pottage; his look so sharp that it turned the wine sour. I will make a new prayer night and morning: May I never again meet such a companion at an inn as this Count de Meyrand."