Nothing more was seen of Adolphe Denot that night. Henri asked his
sister whether she had seen him, and she told him that he had made a
declaration of love to her, and had expressed himself ill-satisfied with
the only answer she had been able to give him. She did not tell her
brother how like a demoniac his friend had behaved. To Marie she was
more explicit; to her she repeated as nearly as possible the whole scene
as it had occurred; and although Agatha was almost weeping with sorrow,
there was so much that was ludicrous in the affair, that Marie could not
keep herself from laughing.
"He will trouble you no more," said she. "You will find that he will not
return to Durbelliere to carry you off through the armed hosts. He will
go to England or emigrate; and in a few years' time, when you meet him
again, you will find him settled down, and as quiet as his neighbours.
He is like new-made wine, my dear--he only wants age."
On the following morning, by break of day, the party left Durbelliere,
and Adolphe Denot joined his friend on the gravelled ring before the
house; and Agatha, who had been with her brother in his room, looking
from the widow saw her unmanageable lover mount his horse in a quiet,
decent way, like the rest of the party.
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