But we made it out at last, reached Paris
early of a Sabbath morning, and made all speed, under Alan's
guidance, to find Bohaldie. He was finely lodged, and lived in a
good style, having a pension on the Scots Fund, as well as private
means; greeted Catriona like one of his own house, and seemed
altogether very civil and discreet, but not particularly open. We
asked of the news of James More. "Poor James!" said he, and shook
his head and smiled, so that I thought he knew further than he
meant to tell. Then we showed him Palliser's letter, and he drew a
long face at that.
"Poor James!" said he again. "Well, there are worse folk than
James More, too. But this is dreadful bad. Tut, tut, he must have
forgot himself entirely! This is a most undesirable letter. But,
for all that, gentlemen, I cannot see what we would want to make it
public for. It's an ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are
all Scots folk and all Hieland."
Upon this we all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and still more upon the
question of our marriage, which Bohaldie took in his own hands, as
though there had been no such person as James More, and gave
Catriona away with very pretty manners and agreeable compliments in
French.
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