Before reaching the cross-road which leads to the castle, Guillaume had told his companion in a few words the remaining vicissitudes in the life of Monsieur Sylvain de Bois-Doré; how his father had attempted to confine him in his tower, to prevent his returning to the Huguenots; how the young man had escaped by scaling the walls, and had gone off to join his dear Henri de Navarre, with whom, after the death of King Henri III., he had fought nine years; how, finally, having contributed to the utmost of his ability to place him on the throne, he had returned to live on his estates, where his tyrant of a father had ceased to live and drive his neighbors mad. "And what became of his young brother?" queried D'Alvimar, making an effort to become interested in the narrative. "The young brother is no more," replied D'Ars. "Bois-Doré knew but little of him, for his father sent him when he was very young to serve under the Duc de Savoie, and while in his service he met his death in a----" At this point Guillaume was interrupted once more by an incident which seemed to annoy D'Alvimar exceedingly, whether because he was beginning to be interested in his companion's information, or because, being a Spaniard, he had a marked repugnance for interrupters. [Footnote 4: Now Feuilly; formerly and successively Seuly, Sully and Seuilly.] III It was a band of gypsies, who were lying flat in a ditch, and rose at the approach of the horsemen like a flock of sparrows, causing Monsieur d'Alvimar's horse to shy. But they were very well tamed sparrows, for, instead of flying away, they threw themselves almost under the legs of the horses, jumping, yelling and holding out their hands in a piteous and hypocritical way. It did not occur to Guillaume to do anything else than laugh at their strange actions, and he bestowed alms on them very generously; but D'Alvimar was extraordinarily surly, and said again and again, threatening them with his whip: "Away! away! away from me, canaille!" He went so far as to attempt to strike a lad who was clinging to his boot, with the look, at once mocking and imploring, of children trained to the trade of begging on the highway. He avoided the whip, and Guillaume, who was riding behind, saw him pick up a stone, which he would have hurled at D'Alvimar, if another boy, somewhat older than he, had not caught his arm, scolding and threatening him. But the incident did not end there: a small woman, of not unattractive appearance, albeit sadly faded and poorly dressed, seized the child, and, speaking to him as if she were his mother, pushed him toward Guillaume, then ran after D'Alvimar, holding out her hand, but at the same time gazing at him as if she wished never to forget his face.