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
He stared at me for a moment at that, and then he turned slowly away
and began to go up; while I looked after him, gradually thinking out the
clue to his conduct. Could it be that it was not mademoiselle attracted
him, but Madame de Bruhl?
And with that hint I understood it all. I saw in a moment; the
conclusion to which he had come on hearing of the presence of madame
in my room. In my room at night! The change had dated from that time;
instead of a careless, light-spirited youth he had become in a moment
a morose and restive churl, as difficult to manage as an unbroken colt.
Quite clearly I saw now the meaning of the change; why he had shrunk
from me, and why all intercourse between us had been so difficult; and
so constrained.
I laughed to think how he had deceived himself, and how nearly I had
come to deceiving myself also. And what more I might have thought I
do not know, for my meditations were cut short at this point by a loud
outcry below, which, beginning in one or two sharp cries of alarm and
warning, culminated quickly in a roar of anger and dismay.
Fancying I recognised Maignan’s voice, I ran down the stairs, seeking
a loophole whence I could command the scene; but finding none, and
becoming more and more alarmed, I descended to the court, which I
found, to my great surprise, as empty and silent as an old battle-field.
Neither on the enemy’s side nor on ours was a single man to be seen.
With growing dismay I sprang across the court and darted through the
outer tower, only to find that and the gateway equally unguarded. Nor
was it until I had passed through the latter, and stood on the brow of
the slope, which we had had to clamber with so much toil, that I learned
what was amiss.
Far below me a string of men, bounding and running at speed, streamed
down the hill towards the horses. Some were shouting, some running
silently, with their elbows at their sides and their scabbards leaping
against their calves. The horses stood tethered in a ring near the edge
of the wood, and by some oversight had been left unguarded. The foremost
runner I made out to be Fresnoy; but a number of his men were close
upon him, and then after an interval came Maignan, waving his blade and
emitting frantic threats with every stride. Comprehending at once
that Fresnoy and his following, rendered desperate by panic and the
prospective loss of their horses, had taken advantage of my absence and
given Maignan the slip, I saw I could do nothing save watch the result
of the struggle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account