She spoke to me always in English of quaint wording and quainter
accent. She seemed not to know that I could speak French.

An impressive French tutor--a fine old fellow, obsequious and
bald-headed--sat by me all night to give me medicine. In the
morning I felt as if I had a new heart in me, and was planning to
mount my horse. I thought I ought to go on about my business, but
I fear I thought more of the young ladies and the possibility of my
seeing them again. The baroness came in after I had a bite to eat.
I told her I felt able to ride,

"You are not able, my child. You cannot ride the horse now," said
she, feeling my brow; "maybe not for a ver' long time. I have a
large house, plenty servant, plenty food. Parbleu! be content. We
shall take good care of you. If there is one message to go to your
chief, you know I shall send it."

I wrote a brief report of my adventure with the British, locating
the scene as carefully as might be, and she sent it by mounted
messenger to "the Burg."

"The young ladies they wish to see you," said the baroness. "They
are kind-hearted; they would like to do what they can. But I tell
them no; they will make you to be very tired."

"On the contrary, it will rest me. Let them come," I said.

"But I warn you," said she, lifting her finger as she left the
room, "do not fall in love. They are full of mischief. They do
not study. They do not care. You know they make much fun all day."