On the mound behind it a ruined castle
which had stood siege in the Hundred Years' War raised its grey walls;
and beyond this the stream which turned the mill poured over rocks with a
cool rushing sound that proved irresistible. The men, their horses
watered and hobbled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below the
falls; and after a moment's hesitation Count Hannibal rose from the grass
on which he had flung himself.
"Guard that for me, Madame," he said. And he dropped a packet, bravely
sealed and tied with a silk thread, into the Countess's lap. "'Twill be
safer than leaving it in my clothes. Ohe!" And he turned to Madame St.
Lo. "Would you fancy a life that was all gipsying, cousin?" And if
there was irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes.
"There is only one happy man in the world," she answered, with
conviction.
"By name?"
"The hermit of Compiegne."
"And in a week you would be wild for a masque!" he said cynically. And
turning on his heel he followed the men.
Madame St. Lo sighed complacently. "Heigho!" she said. "He's right! We
are never content, _ma mie_! When I am trifling in the Gallery my heart
is in the greenwood. And when I have eaten black bread and drank spring
water for a fortnight I do nothing but dream of Zamet's, and white
mulberry tarts! And you are in the same case.
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