France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
All this commotion had aroused Isabelle, Serafina and the duenna, who
presently made their appearance. The two younger women, though a little
pale and weary, yet looked very charming in the bright morning light.
In de Sigognac’s eyes they appeared radiant, in spite of the shabbiness
of their finery, which was far more apparent now than on the preceding
evening. But what signify faded ribbons and dingy gowns when the
wearers are fresh, young and beautiful? Besides, the baron’s eyes were
so accustomed to dinginess that they were not capable of detecting such
slight defects in the toilets of his fair guests, and he gazed with
delight upon these bewitching creatures, enraptured with their grace
and beauty. As to the duenna, she was both old and ugly, and had long
ago accepted the inevitable with commendable resignation.
As the ladies entered by one door, Pierre came in by the other,
bringing more wood for the fire, and then proceeding to make the
disordered room as tidy as he could. All the company now gathered round
the cheerful blaze that was roaring up the chimney and sending out a
warm glow that was an irresistible attraction in the chill of the early
morning. Isabelle knelt down and stretched out the rosy palms of her
pretty little hands as near to the flames as she dared, while Serafina
stood behind and laid her hands caressingly on her shoulders, like an
elder sister taking tender care of a younger one. Matamore stood on one
leg like a huge heron, leaning against the corner of the carved
chimney-piece, and seemed inclined to fall asleep again, while the
pedant was vainly searching for a swallow of wine among the empty
bottles.
The baron meantime had held a hurried private consultation with Pierre
as to the possibility of procuring a few eggs, or a fowl or two, at the
nearest hamlet, so that he might give the travellers something to eat
before their departure, and he bade the old servant be quick about it,
for the chariot was to make an early start, as they had a long day’s
journey before them.
“I cannot let you go away fasting, though you will have rather a scanty
breakfast I fear,” he said to his guests, “but it is better to have a
poor one than none at all; and there is not an inn within six leagues
of this where you could be sure of getting anything to eat. I will not
make further apologies, for the condition of everything in this house
shows you plainly enough that I am not rich; but as my poverty is
mainly owing to the great expenditures made by my honoured ancestors in
many wars for the defence of king and country, I do not need to be
ashamed of it.”
“No indeed, my lord,” answered Hérode in his deep, bass voice, “and
many there be in these degenerate days who hold their heads very high
because of their riches, who would not like to have to confess how they
came in possession of them.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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