“That is the place,” he said; “she often told me of the coat-of-arms over the doorway—a mullet impaled with three squirrels; there they are. I wonder if it is still a school?” It turned out that it was still a school, and in due course they were admitted, and allowed to wander round the ancient walled garden, with every nook of which Mr. Alston seemed to be perfectly acquainted. “There is the tree under which she used to sit,” he said sadly to his boy, pointing out an old yew-tree, under which there stood a rotting bench. “Who?” asked Ernest, much interested. “My dead wife, that boy’s mother; she was educated here,” he said, with a sigh. “There, I have seen it. Let us go.” CHAPTER XV. ERNEST GETS INTO TROUBLE When Mr. Alston and Ernest reached the hotel, there was still a quarter of an hour to elapse before the _table d’hôte_, so, after washing his hands and putting on a black coat, Ernest went down into the coffee-room. There was only one other person in it, a tall fair Frenchwoman, apparently about thirty years of age. She was standing by the empty fireplace, her arm upon the mantelpiece, and a lace pocket-handkerchief in her hand; and Ernest’s first impression of her was that she was handsome and much over-dressed. There was a newspaper upon the mantelpiece, which he desired to get possession of. As he advanced for this purpose, the lady dropped her handkerchief. Stooping down, he picked it out of the grate and handed it to her. “_Mille remerciments, monsieur,_” she said, with a little curtsey. “_Du tout, madame._” “_Ah, monsieur parle français?_” “_Mais oui, madame._” And then they drifted into a conversation, in the course of which Ernest learned that madame thought St. Peter’s Port very dull; that she had been there three days with her friends, and was nearly dead _de tristesse;_ that she was going, however, to the public dance at the “Hall” that night. “Of course monsieur would be there;” and many other things, for madame had a considerable command of language. In the middle of all this the door opened, and another lady of much the same cut as madame entered, followed by two young men. The first of these had a face of the commonplace English type, rather a good-humoured face; but when he saw the second, Ernest started, it was so like his own, as his would become if he were to spend half a dozen years in drinking, dicing, late hours, and their concomitants. The man to whom this face belonged was evidently a gentleman, but he looked an ill-tempered one, and very puny and out of health; at least so thought Ernest. “It is time for dinner, Camille,” said the gentleman to madame, at the same time favouring Ernest with a most comprehensive scowl. Madame appeared not to understand, and made some remark to Ernest. “It is time for dinner, Camille,” said the gentleman again, in a savage voice. This time she lifted her head and looked at him. “_Din-nare, dinnare!_ qu’est-que c’est que _din-nare?_”