Vawse, and
French history had formed a good part of her last winter's
reading. She listened with the most eager delight, too much
engrossed to notice the good-humoured glances that were every
now and then given her by one of the speakers. Not Mr.
Lindsay, though his hand was upon her shoulder, or playing
with the light curls that fell over her temples; _he_ did not
see that her face was flushed with interest, or notice the
quick smile and sparkle of the eye that followed every turn in
the conversation that favoured her wishes, or foiled his; it
was M. Muller. They came to the Swiss, and their famous
struggle for freedom against Austrian oppression. M. Muller
wished to speak of the noted battle in which that freedom was
made sure, but for the moment its name had escaped him.
"Par ma foi," said M. Villars, "il m'a enti?rement pass?!"
Mr. Lindsay would not or could not help him out. But M. Muller
suddenly turned to Ellen, in whose face he thought he saw a
look of intelligence, and begged of her the missing name.
"Est-ce, Morgarten, Monsieur?" said Ellen, blushing.
"Morgarten! c'est ?a!" said he with a polite pleased bow of
thanks. Mr. Lindsay was little less astonished than the Duke
of Argyle, when his gardener claimed to be the owner of a
Latin work on mathematics.
The conversation presently took a new turn with M. Villars;
and M. Muller withdrawing from it, addressed himself to Ellen.
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