However painful may be this mode of mind,--however desirous we may be of escaping from it,--however sensibly we may feel that the only relief we can hope is to be found in activity, occupation, and resistance; yet there is a benumbing influence in that peculiar state of grief and disappointment, which, like the fabled fascination of the serpent in regard to the birds it seeks to devour, prevents us from employing the only means of delivering ourselves. St. Real knew as well as any one, that the occupation of his thoughts upon other subjects was the only relief he could hope for; but still he lingered on from hour to hour, no sooner attempting to turn his mind to other things, than falling back again into the same desponding memories of all that he cast away when he resigned the hope of ever seeing Eugenie de Menancourt again. Ere he was aware of it--for deep grief, like intense happiness, "takes no note of time"--the grey daylight of the early summer dawn began to pour through the open window. All had been long quiet in the town, the inns and cabarets had long been closed, and not a sound had for some time stirred in the _auberge_ where he had taken up his quarters. But at length his reverie was broken by the distant sound of horses' feet; and, rising from his seat, he almost mechanically proceeded to the window, and gazed out up and down the road. At first no one was visible, except a small group of guards at the gates of the Maison de Gondi, in which King Henry III. had fixed hie abode, and though they were apparently speaking together, the tones they used were so low that not even the murmur of their voices reached St. Real's ear through the still, calm silence of the early morning. The next moment, however, the sound of coming horse became suddenly more distinct, as, turning the corner of the road from Meudon, a party of five cavaliers galloped into the village. St. Real fixed his eyes upon them as they advanced, and instantly recognised in their leader Henry of Navarre. The guards at the gate of the Maison de Gondi seemed, from the bustle created amongst them, not only to see the party, but to recognise the cousin of their monarch. The tidings of his arrival appeared to be passed on into the court; and the moment after, the soldiers and officers of the Scottish guard came pouring forth without any symptoms of their usual discipline and orderly demeanour. The King of Navarre perceived their approach; and nearly opposite to the window at which St. Real stood drew up his horse, which hitherto had proceeded at full gallop. Several of the officers of the guard instantly rushed forward, and cast themselves upon one knee at the stirrup of the monarch, exclaiming, "Oh, sire! you are our king and our master!" and, at the same moment, one or two voices from the crowd pronounced, for the first time, the often repeated words, "Vive Henry Quatre!"