A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de MarsacWeyman, Stanley John
History
A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac
Weyman, Stanley John
France -- History -- Henry III, 1574-1589 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
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 are a set of cravens and sluggards. Give me as
many women, and I would--’
‘Peace, woman!’ Maignan said in his deep voice. ‘You had your way and
came with us, and you will obey orders as well as another! Be off, and
see to the victuals before worse happen to you!’
‘Ay, see to the victuals!’ she retorted. ‘See to the victuals, forsooth!
That is all you think of--to lie warm and eat your fill! A set of
dastardly, drinking, droning guzzlers you are! You are!’ she retorted,
her voice rising to a shriek. ‘May the plague take you!’
‘Silence!’ Maignan growled fiercely, ‘or have a care to yourself! For a
copper-piece I would send you to cool your heels in the water below--for
that last word! Begone, do you hear,’ he continued, seizing her by the
shoulder and thrusting her towards the house, ‘or worse may happen to
you. We are rough customers, as you will find if you do not lock up your
tongue!’
I heard her go wailing into the darkness; and Heaven knows it was not
without compunction I forced myself to remain inactive in the face of a
devotion which seemed so much greater than mine. The men fell away one
by one to look to their horses and choose sleeping-quarters for the
night; and presently M. d’Agen and I were left alone standing beside the
lanthorn, which the man had hung on a bush before his door. The brawling
of the water as it poured between the banks, a score of paces from us,
and the black darkness which hid everything beyond the little ring
of light in which we stood--so that for all we could see we were in a
pit--had the air of isolating us from all the world.
I looked at the young man, who had not once lisped that day; and I
plainly read in his attitude his disapproval of my caution. Though he
declined to meet my eye, he stood with his arms folded and his head
thrown back, making no attempt to disguise the scorn and ill-temper
which his face expressed. Hurt by the woman’s taunts, and possibly
shaken in my opinion, I grew restive under his silence, and unwisely
gave way to my feelings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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