Hornblower noticed his wry smile as he used the word honour, and tried to stammer a fitting reply, to which the Count listened politely. It was amazing, now Hornblower came to think about it, that chance should have led him to a house where he was welcomed and protected, where he might consider himself safe from pursuit, and sleep in peace. The thought of sleep made him realize that he was desperately tired, despite his excitement. The impassive face of the Count, and the friendly face of his daughter-in-law, gave no hint as to whether or not they too were tired; for a moment Hornblower wrestled with the problem which always presents itself the first evening of ones stay in a strange housewhether the guest should suggest going to bed or wait for a hint from his host. He made his resolve, and rose to his feet.
You are tired, said the Vicomtessethe first words she had spoken for some time.
Yes, said Hornblower.
I will show you your room, sir. Shall I
ring for your servant? No? said the Count.
Out in the hall, after Hornblower had bowed good night, the Count indicated the pistols still lying on the side table.
Perhaps you would care to have those at your bedside? he asked politely. You might feel safer?
Hornblower was tempted, but finally he refused the offer. Two pistols would not suffice to save him from Bonapartes police should they come for him.
As you will, said the Count, leading the way with a candle. I loaded them when I heard your approach because there was a chance that you were a party of réfractairesyoung men who evade the conscription by hiding in the woods and mountains. Their number has grown considerably since the latest decree anticipating the conscription. But I quickly realized that no gang meditating mischief would proclaim its proximity with shouts. Here is your room, sir. I hope you will find here everything you require. The clothes you are wearing appear to fit so tolerably that perhaps you will continue to wear them to-morrow? Then I shall say good night. I hope you will sleep well.
The bed was deliciously warm as Hornblower slid into it and closed the curtains. His thoughts were pleasantly muddled; disturbing memories of the appalling swoop of the little boat down the long black slope of water at the fall, and of his agonized battle for life in the water, were overridden by mental pictures of the Counts long, mobile face and of Caillard bundled in his cloak and dumped down upon the carriage floor. He did not sleep well, but he could hardly be said to have slept badly.
Chapter Eight
Gales pretty nigh dropped, sir, he said. I think what wind theres left is backing southerly, and we might have a thaw.
Through the deep windows of the bedroom Hornblower could see from his bed a wide landscape of dazzling white, falling steeply away down to the river which was black by contrast, appearing like a black crayon mark on white paper. Trees stood out starkly through the snow where the gale had blown their branches bare; down beside the river the willows theresome of them stood in the flood, with white foam at their feetwere still domed with white. Hornblower fancied he could hear the rushing of water, and was certain that he could hear the regular droning of the fall, the tumbling water at whose foot was just visible over the shoulder of the bank. Far beyond the river could be seen the snow-covered roofs of a few small houses.
Ive been in to Mr. Bush already, sir, said BrownHornblower felt a twinge of remorse at being too interested in the landscape to have a thought to spare for his lieutenantand hes all right an sends you his best respects, sir. Im goin to help him shave after Ive attended to you, sir.
Yes, said Hornblower.
He felt deliciously languorous. He wanted to be idle and lazy. The present was a moment of transition between the miseries and dangers of yesterday and the unknown activities of to-day, and he wanted that moment to be prolonged on and on indefinitely; he wanted time to stand still, the pursuers who were seeking him on the other side of Nevers to be stilled into an enchanted rigidity while he lay here free from danger and responsibility. The very coffee he had drunk contributed to his ease by relieving his thirst without stimulating him to activity. He sank imperceptibly and delightfully into a vague day-dream; it was hateful of Brown to recall him to wakefulness again by a respectful shuffling of his feet,
Right, said Hornblower resigning himself to the inevitable.
He kicked off the bedclothes and rose to his feet, the hard world of the matter-of-fact closing round him, and his daydreams vanishing like the cloud-colours of a tropical sunrise. As he shaved and washed in the absurdly small basin in the corner, he contemplated grimly the prospect of prolonged conversation in French with his hosts. He grudged the effort it would involve, and he envied Bush his complete inability to speak any other tongue than English. Having to exert himself to-day loomed as large to his selfwilled mind as the fact that he was doomed to death if he were caught again. He listened