It may be judged whether Anne-Hilarion kept silence on his adventures, either to his grandfather or to his admiring audience of servants. The chief rôle in his recitals, however, was always assigned to M. le Chevalier, and endless were the tales of his kindness, his cleverness, and his strength. Mr. Elphinstone, though he would not for anything check these outpourings, found means sometimes to avoid them by diverting his grandson's attention to other subjects, partly because he did not think it good for the child to dwell too much on his recent past, partly because he himself found them so painful. He had latterly lived through a time that he could never forget, nor would he ever be able to forgive himself for letting Anne go to Canterbury. But he would not now, thank God, have to greet his son-in-law, on his return from Verona, with the terrible news of Anne's disappearance. As it happened it was Anne himself who conveyed to his father the first intimation of what had happened during his absence. The Marquis arrived unexpectedly one afternoon when Mr. Elphinstone was closeted with his lawyer in the library. Nothing, therefore, passed between them, for the moment, beyond the usual very cordial greetings, and de Flavigny had the fancy to surprise his son unannounced. He went up to the nursery, and, opening the door noiselessly, became a surprised witness of Anne's powers of narration. Baptiste was sitting rapt upon a stool, and Anne, perched upon a window seat, was describing the midnight flight from Abbeville. To his father, of course, this was merely an exercise in fiction. "And then we came to water and ships, and M. le Chevalier said I must be his nephew, and we would go in one of the ships, and the captain said Yes, though at first I think he said No, and he gave me that shell I have downstairs, and after quite a long time we came to--where did I tell you yesterday, Baptiste, that we came to?" "It would be Caen, I think, M. le Comte," replied the ancient retainer, devouring the small narrator with his doglike gaze. ("What game is this they are playing?" thought the unseen listener.) "Yes, that was the name. I liked Caen; it is a fine town, with many churches. But you know, Baptiste, I think the country of France round that place, Abbeville, not so pretty as England." "And pray what do you know of Abbeville, little romancer?" interrupted his father, coming forward. "Or, for that matter, of any part of France?" "M. le Marquis!" exclaimed Baptiste, jumping up from his stool. "Papa!" screamed Anne-Hilarion, and was off the seat like a flash and had flung himself at him. But, embraces over, and Baptiste discreetly vanished, de Flavigny repeated his question. "What do you know of France, baby?"