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
In truth I had discovered that, taking advantage of my helplessness, the
scoundrels had robbed me, while I lay insensible, of every gold crown
in my purse! Nor was this all, or the worst, for I saw at once that
in doing so they had effected something which was a thousandfold more
ominous and formidable--established against me that secret understanding
which it was my especial aim to prevent, and on the absence of which I
had been counting. Nay, I saw that for my very life I had only my friend
the cutler and my own prudence to thank, seeing that these rogues would
certainly have murdered me without scruple had they succeeded in finding
the bulk of my money. Baffled in this, while still persuaded that I had
other resources, they had stopped short of that villany--or this memoir
had never been written. They had kindly permitted me to live until a
more favourable opportunity of enriching themselves at my expense should
put them in possession of my last crown!
Though I was sufficiently master of myself to refrain from complaints
which I felt must be useless, and from menaces which it has never
been my habit to utter unless I had also the power to put them into
execution, it must not be imagined that I did not, as I rode on by
Fresnoy’s side, feel my position acutely or see how absurd a figure
I cut in my dual character of leader and dupe. Indeed, the reflection
that, being in this perilous position, I was about to stake another’s
safety as well as my own, made me feel the need of a few minutes’
thought so urgent that I determined to gain them, even at the risk
of leaving my men at liberty to plot further mischief. Coming almost
immediately afterwards within sight, of the turrets of the Chateau of
Chize, I told Fresnoy that we should lie the night at the village;
and bade him take the men on and secure quarters at the inn. Attacked
instantly by suspicion and curiosity, he demurred stoutly to leaving me,
and might have persisted in his refusal had I not pulled up, and clearly
shown him that I would have my own way in this case or come to an open
breach. He shrank, as I expected, from the latter alternative, and,
bidding me a sullen adieu, trotted on with his troop. I waited until
they were out of sight, and then, turning the Cid’s head, crossed a
small brook which divided the road from the chase, and choosing a
ride which seemed to pierce the wood in the direction of the Chateau,
proceeded down it, keeping a sharp look-out on either hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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