A slight shade fell over the reckless, scampish face; he
was a moment vexed that we scorned him. Merely vexed, I think; shamed
not at all; he knew not the feel of it. Even in the brief space I
watched him, as I passed to the door, his visage cleared, and he sat him
down contentedly to finish M. Etienne's veal broth.
My lord paced along rapidly and gladly, on fire to be before Monsieur
with the packet. But one little cloud, transient as Peyrot's, passed
across his lightsome countenance.
"I would that knave were of my rank," he said. "I had not left him
without slapping a glove in his face."
That Peyrot had come off scot-free put me out of patience, too, but I
regretted the gold we had given him more than the wounds we had not. The
money, on the contrary, troubled M. Etienne no whit; what he had never
toiled for he parted with lightly.
We came to our gates and went straightway up the stairs to Monsieur's
cabinet. He sprang to meet us at the door, snatching the packet from
his son's eager hand.
"Well done, Etienne, my champion! An you brought me the crown of France
I were not so pleased!"
The flush of joy at generous praise of good work kindled on M. Etienne's
cheek; it were hard to say which of the two messieurs beamed the more
delightedly on the other.
"My son, you have brought me back my honour," spoke Monsieur, more
quietly, the exuberance of his delight abating, but leaving him none the
less happy.
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