There was an old rider among them who had seen the sack of
Rome, and the dead face of the great Constable the idol of the Free
Companies. But he had a taste for simples and much skill in them; and
when Madame had once seen Badelon on his knees in the grass searching for
plants, she lost her fear of him. Bigot, with his low brow and matted
hair, was the abject slave of Suzanne, Madame St. Lo's woman, who twitted
him mercilessly on his Norman _patois_, and poured the vials of her scorn
on him a dozen times a day. In all, with La Tribe and the Carlats,
Madame St. Lo's servants, and the Countess's following, they numbered not
far short of two score; and when they halted at noon, and under the
shadow of some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed to the
tinkle of Madame St. Lo's lute, it was difficult to believe that Paris
existed, or that these same people had so lately left its blood-stained
pavements.
They halted this morning a little earlier than usual. Madame St. Lo had
barely answered her companion's question before the subject of their
discussion swung himself from old Sancho's back, and stood waiting to
assist them to dismount. Behind him, where the green valley through
which the road passed narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood among
willows at the foot of a mound.
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