A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac by - (e reader for manga txt) 📗
- Author: -
Book online «A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac by - (e reader for manga txt) 📗». Author -
Noting these signs, and doubting if I could trust even Maignan, I thought it prudent to change my place, and falling to the rear, rode there with a grim face and a pistol ready to my hand. It was not the least of my annoyances that M. d’Agen appeared to be ignorant of any cause for apprehension save such as lay before us, and riding on in the same gloomy fit which had possessed him from the moment of starting, neither sought my opinion nor gave his own, but seemed to have undergone so complete and mysterious a change that I could think of one thing only that could have power to effect so marvellous a transformation. I felt his presence a trial rather than a help, and reviewing the course of our short friendship, which a day or two before had been so great a delight to me—as the friendship of a young man commonly is to one growing old—I puzzled myself with much wondering whether there could be rivalry between us.
Sunset, which was welcome to my company, since it removed the haze, which they regarded with superstitious dread, found us still plodding through a country of low ridges and shallow valleys, both clothed in oak-woods. Its short brightness died away, and with it my last hope of surprising Bruhl before I slept. Darkness fell upon us as we wended our way slowly down a steep hillside where the path was so narrow and difficult as to permit only one to descend at a time. A stream of some size, if we might judge from the noise it made, poured through the ravine below us, and presently, at the point where we believed the crossing to be, we espied a solitary light shining in the blackness. To proceed farther was impossible, for the ground grew more and more precipitous; and, seeing this, I bade Maignan dismount, and leaving us where we were, go for a guide to the house from which the light issued.
He obeyed, and plunging into the night, which in that pit; between the hills was of an inky darkness, presently returned with a peasant and a lanthorn. I was about to bid the man guide us to the ford, or to some level ground where we could picket the horses, when Maignan gleefully cried out that he had news. I asked what news.
‘Speak up, MANANT!’ he said, holding up his lanthorn so that the light fell on the man’s haggard face and unkempt hair. ‘Tell his Excellency what you have told me, or I will skin you alive, little man!’
‘Your other party came to the ford an hour before sunset,’ the peasant answered, staring dully at us. ‘I saw them coming, and hid myself. They quarrelled by the ford. Some were for crossing, and some not.’
‘They had ladies with them?’ M. d’Agen said suddenly.
‘Ay, two, your Excellency,’ the clown answered, ‘riding like men. In the end they did not cross for fear of the plague, but turned up the river, and rode westwards towards St. Gaultier.’
‘St. Gaultier!’ I said, ‘Where is that? Where does the road to it go to besides?’
But the peasant’s knowledge was confined to his own neighbourhood. He knew no world beyond St. Gaultier, and could not answer my question. I was about to bid him show us the way down, when Maignan cried out that he knew more.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Arnidieu! he heard them say where they were going to spend the night!’
‘Ha!’ I cried. ‘Where?’
‘In an old ruined castle two leagues from this, and between here and St. Gaultier,’ the equerry answered, forgetting in his triumph both plague and panic. ‘What do you say to that, your Excellency? It is so, sirrah, is it not?’ he continued, turning to the peasant. ‘Speak, Master Jacques, or I will roast you before a slow fire!’
But I did not wait to hear the answer. Leaping to the ground, I took the Cid’s rein on my arm, and cried impatiently to the man to lead us down.
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CASTLE ON THE HILL.
The certainty that Bruhl and his captives were not far off, and the likelihood that we might be engaged within the hour, expelled from the minds of even the most timorous among us the vapourish fears which had before haunted them. In the hurried scramble which presently landed us on the bank of the stream, men who had ridden for hours in sulky silence found their voices, and from cursing their horses’ blunders soon advanced to swearing and singing after the fashion of their kind. This change, by relieving me of a great fear, left me at leisure to consider our position, and estimate more clearly than I might have done the advantages of hastening, or postponing, an attack. We numbered eleven; the enemy, to the best of my belief, twelve. Of this slight superiority I should have reeked little in the daytime; nor, perhaps, counting Maignan as two, have allowed that it existed. But the result of a night attack is more difficult to forecast; and I had also to take into account the perils to which the two ladies would be exposed, between the darkness and tumult, in the event of the issue remaining for a time in doubt.
These considerations, and particularly the last, weighed so powerfully with me, that before I reached the bottom of the gorge I had decided to postpone the attack until morning. The answers to some questions which I put to the inhabitant of the house by the ford as soon as I reached level ground only confirmed me in this resolution. The road Bruhl had taken ran for a distance by the riverside, and along the bottom of the gorge; and, difficult by day, was reported to be impracticable for horses by night. The castle he had mentioned lay full two leagues away, and on the farther edge of a tract of rough woodland. Finally, I doubted whether, in the absence of any other reason for delay, I could have marched my men, weary as they were, to the place before daybreak.
When I came to announce this decision, however, and to inquire what accommodation the peasant could afford us, I found myself in trouble. Fanchette, mademoiselle’s woman, suddenly confronted me, her face scarlet with rage. Thrusting herself forward into the circle of light cast by the lanthorn, she assailed me with a virulence and fierceness which said more for her devotion to her mistress than her respect for me. Her wild gesticulations, her threats, and the appeals which she made now to me, and now to the men who stood in a circle round us, their faces in shadow, discomfited as much as they surprised me.
‘What!’ she cried violently, ‘you call yourself a gentleman, and lie here and let my mistress be murdered, or worse, within a league of you! Two leagues? A groat for your two leagues! I would walk them barefoot, if that would shame you. And you, you call yourselves men, and suffer it! It is God’s truth you
Comments (0)