"Because he counts no cost!" her companion answered. "Because he killed
Savillon in the court of the Louvre, though he knew his life the forfeit.
He would have paid the forfeit too, or lost his right hand, if Monsieur,
for his brother the Marshal's sake, had not intervened. But Savillon had
whipped his dog, you see. Then he killed the Chevalier de Millaud, but
'twas in fair fight, in the snow, in their shirts. For that, Millaud's
son lay in wait for him with two, in the passage under the Chatelet; but
Hannibal wounded one, and the others saved themselves. Undoubtedly he is
feared!" she added with the same note of pride in her voice.
The two who talked, rode at the rear of the little company which had left
Paris at daybreak two days before, by the Porte St. Jacques. Moving
steadily south-westward by the lesser roads and bridle-tracks--for Count
Hannibal seemed averse from the great road--they had lain the second
night in a village three leagues from Bonneval. A journey of two days on
fresh horses is apt to change scenery and eye alike; but seldom has an
alteration--in themselves and all about them--as great as that which
blessed this little company, been wrought in so short a time. From the
stifling wynds and evil-smelling lanes of Paris, they had passed to the
green uplands, the breezy woods and babbling streams of the upper
Orleannais; from sights and sounds the most appalling, to the solitude of
the sandy heath, haunt of the great bustard, or the sunshine of the
hillside, vibrating with the songs of larks; from an atmosphere of terror
and gloom to the freedom of God's earth and sky.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242