Just as I dismounted, and gave the reins of my horse to a groom in the royal livery, a vehement blowing of horns, accompanied by the yelling and barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and cracking of whips, approached, and I beheld the King ride up, surrounded by a gay and joyous but travel-stained band of hunters--the four dukes, who were gentlemen of his chamber, the grand huntsman, the grand faucormier, a pack of hounds, and a host of grooms and keepers. They all came up by that stately path of ancient elms, the rows of which are twenty fathoms wide, and which lead from the old brick castle towards Paris. I begged M. de Brissac, a gentleman of the Duc de Bouillon, and formerly a captain in St. Lacy's dragoons, who was riding beside the King, to mention that a courier had arrived from the army; and my request--or the words of it--spread like wildfire. 'A courier from the army?' said one. 'Which army--we have five in the field?' asked a second. 'The army of the Rhine,' replied a third. 'From Italy, I believe,' said M. de Brissac. 'Ah!' exclaimed the Duc de St. Simon; 'from the Marechal Duc de Crecqui?' 'Has he taken Parma from the Spaniards?' 'Yes--of course. Parbleu! 'tis glorious.' 'Parma is taken. Vive le Marechal Duc de Crecqui!' Thus, amid confused shouts and blowing of horns, I found myself standing uncovered beside the stirrup of the timid and querulous king, who was in the act of opening a long despatch, which had just been handed to him by another officer, who, as De Brissac told me, had just arrived from the Duc de Rohan; and in this officer, who had preceded me by three minutes, I recognized my countryman the young Earl of Irvine, a colonel of foot. He looked pale, thin, and emaciated, for his right hand had been shot off. 'My brave M. Irvine,' said the King, 'what reward must yours be?' 'Permission to serve your Majesty with my left hand, since the right is lying at the foot of the Alps.' 'Thou art a valiant Scot!' exclaimed the King, opening the despatch.' But his countenance grew dark as he read on, for the letter detailed, in the gentlest manner, an undeniable defeat; and every lip was hushed and every eye bent on him while he made himself master of its contents. 'Mordieu!' he exclaimed in an altered tone; 'so--so my lord, you were defeated at a place which M. de Rohan calls Bormio?' 'Pardon me, sire,' replied the politic Earl, with a profound bow; 'we were not defeated--your Majesty's troops never are. We simply retired, and left some of our soldiers in possession of the field.' 'Ah! the killed and wounded, I suppose,' said the King, with a sardonic grin. 'Alas! sire,' resumed the young Earl, 'I have still worse tidings to give, for it was rumoured in our army that your Majesty's most faithful and valiant ally, Monseigneur the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, is dying.'