The Countess was one--the others were the two men whose
thoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again sought her, La Tribe's
with sombre fire in their depths, Count Hannibal's fraught with a gloomy
speculation, which belied his brave words to Madame St. Lo.
He, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; dark ones, which did not
touch her. And she, too, had other thoughts at times, dreams of her
young lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry out of the
darkness which had suddenly whelmed her. So that of the three only La
Tribe was single-minded.
This day they rode a long league after sunset, through a scattered oak-
wood, where the rabbits sprang up under their horses' heads and the
squirrels made angry faces at them from the lower branches. Night was
hard upon them when they reached the southern edge of the forest, and
looked across the dusky open slopes to a distant light or two which
marked where Vendome stood.
"Another league," Count Hannibal muttered; and he bade the men light
fires where they were, and unload the packhorses. "'Tis pure and dry
here," he said. "Set a watch, Bigot, and let two men go down for water.
I hear frogs below. You do not fear to be moonstruck, Madame?"
"I prefer this," she answered in a low voice.
"Houses are for monks and nuns!" he rejoined heartily.
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