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turned a blank stare on him.
He was about to jump down and attempt to herd the
geese aside, trusting Felix to control the horses, when
Miriam and Hannah appeared. Flapping their skirts,
they advanced on the flock.
"Shoo! Shoo!"
The horses rolled their eyes, but the geese
obediently waddled back towards the gate. Isaac tore
his gaze from Miriam's slender ankles, only to see Felix
admiring the same delectable view.
Miriam turned, pink-cheeked, laughing and slightly
breathless, and called, "We'll try to keep them here
while you drive past."
Isaac gathered the reins, which he had let lie slack,
then dropped them again. After Felix's generous
congratulations he no longer felt the need to prove his
driving ability. "If the `foul fowl' escape I'll be in the
suds again," he said. "Felix, will you lead the horses?"
"Give me sheep any day," said Felix, starting
forward. "At least they don't bite the horses' knees."
One goose dashed under the berline as it passed but
emerged unscathed on the other side. Isaac took up
the reins again and the others returned to their seats.
Looking back, he saw the child shepherd her flock
across the road without sparing a glance for the
carriage. He shrugged and drove on.
The next posting house was not far ahead. Felix
took his place on the box and Isaac joined the ladies.
"You made splendid gooseherds," he told them. "Is it
an inborn skill or have you had practice?"
To his delight, Miriam laughed. He hoped Felix
heard her. "The only time I've been near a goose before
is to eat it," she said. "We thought we'd best take a
hand as that little girl made no effort to help."
"She didn't seem to understand when I asked her to
move them. Did I say it wrong? Oie is goose, is it not?"
"Yes, and you would think she must have
understood what you wanted even if it's pronounced
differently in the local patois."
"Patois?"
"The peasants of each region of France have their
own dialect, as different from standard French and
each other as Cockney is from Yorkshire. Gascon is
even more different, almost a separate language.
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Unlike the other dialects even the educated people
speak it among themselves."
"Do you speak Gascon too?" Isaac asked, impressed
by her interest as much as by her knowledge.
"Only a few words. Most of the people we met in
Gascony spoke French."
"Where exactly is Gascony?"
"It's more or less the same as Aquitaine, stretching
roughly from Bordeaux to the Pyrenees, overlapping
the Basque country in the south. There is a great deal
of English influence as well."
"English! Why?"
"The kings of England were dukes of Aquitaine for
three centuries and the inhabitants of the Bordeaux
area, at least, were not pleased when the French kings
took it over. They had been exporting wine to England
in vast quantities since time immemorial."
"And still do, do they not? Felix was extolling the
virtues of claret last night."
"Both growers and merchants would be ruined if
they let a minor matter like war between France and
England stop the wine trade." Miriam smiled and
shook her head. "Think how often we have been
enemies throughout history!"
"Don't tell Felix, but for someone who claims to be a
true Englishman I know remarkably little about
English history," he confessed wryly, "and less about
France. So the Gascons favour England? Even against
Napoleon?"
"They are decidedly independent-minded. During
the Revolution the Royal standard was raised at
Bordeaux. They also supplied many members of one of
the losing revolutionary parties, the Girondists, most
of whom were guillotined. So, though I wouldn't go so
far as to say they favour England, they are hardly
fervent supporters of Napoleon. That doesn't mean
that we can relax our guard. Many people in Bordeaux
are Bonapartists and many would recognize English at
once if they heard it."
"You had best warn Felix."
"Why do not you, since you are now on friendly
terms with him?"
"Because I wish to remain on friendly terms with
him."
"And giving him advice would scarce be tactful," she
agreed, laughing. "I shall warn him, then. You cannot
80
imagine how glad I am that you no longer hold him in
contempt."
Isaac did his best to hide his dismay. He was
beginning to fear that if Felix asked Miriam to marry
him she just might accept.
Felix was driving again when they reached
Bordeaux that evening. Crossing the Garonne, Miriam
noted fewer ships than ever anchored in the river or
tied up at the docks. Napoleon's Continental System
had virtually destroyed the great port's trade.
She had given Felix careful directions to the inn she
decided they should stay at, for the city was the largest
they had entered since leaving Paris. As the carriage
rumbled through the narrow, crooked streets of the old
section, she peered anxiously through the window. In
the dusk, the ancient, wood-framed buildings all
looked alike. She couldn't see the towers of St. André's
Cathedral, by which she had told Felix to steer.
They emerged in the new part of town, built in the
last century with imposing stone buildings, wide
streets and spacious squares. Here it was easier to get
her bearings, and she found that Felix had followed
her instructions to the letter. A few minutes later the
berline pulled up before the Auberge du Prince de
Galles.
The shutter clicked back and Felix said, "There's a
very narrow archway into the yard. We had best be
sure they have rooms to spare before I drive in."
"I'll go and ask," Miriam said. Only yesterday, she
thought, he would have driven straight in just to show
off his skill.
Isaac handed her down. Turning to smile up at Felix
she caught him staring at the inn sign which hung
above their heads, creaking as it swung in the breeze
off the Garonne River. On it was depicted a man in
black armour, resting one hand on his sword, the
other holding a shield with a device of three ostrich
plumes and the motto "Ich dien."
"Prinny's insignia." Felix started laughing. "That [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]