Page:Cerise, a tale of the last century (IA cerisetaleoflast00whytrich).pdf/502

 this evening, commend me humbly to your beautiful daughter and to her husband, my old friend, the Captain of Musketeers."

So speaking, the Abbé held open the door of communication and bowed the Marquise into the adjoining room, where food and wine were served with all the ceremonious grace of the old Court. His brow was never smoother, his smile never more assured; but as soon as he found himself alone, he sat down at the writing-table and buried his face in his hands.

"So fair a scheme!" he muttered. "So deep! So well-arranged! And to fail at last like this! But what tools I have had to work with! What tools! What tools!"

Meantime two honest voices in the bar were pealing louder and louder in joyous interchange of questions, congratulations, and entreaties to drink. The shouts of laughter that had reached the Marquise at the top of the stairs came from no less powerful lungs than those of Slap-Jack, who had stolen down from the hill as usual for the hindrance of Alice in her household duties. He was leaning over her chair, probably to assist her in mending the house linen, when his occupation was interrupted by the arrival of a tall, dried-up looking personage dressed in a long duffle coat, who entered the sanctum with a valise and other luggage in his hands. Something in the ship-*shape accuracy with which he disposed of these roused Slap-Jack's professional attention, and when the stranger turning round pushed his hat off his forehead, and shut one eye to have a good look, recognition on both sides was instantaneous and complete.

"Why, Alice, it's Smoke-Jack!" exclaimed her sweetheart, while volumes would have failed to express more of delight and astonishment than the new-comer conveyed in the simple ejaculation, "Well! Blow me!"

A bowl of punch was ordered, and pipes were lit forthwith, Alice filling her lover's coquettishly, and applying a match to it with her own pretty fingers. Smoke-Jack looked on approving, and winked several times in succession. Mentally he was scanning the damsel with a critical eye, her bows, her run, her figure-head, her tackle, and the