Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction
"Perhaps the King may not be there either, Louis," replied Rose in a
faint tone: "all these reports may be as false as that he was at
Annet. But, whatever be the case, De Montigni, I fear I must stop at
the first houses; for, to say truth, I can go no farther."
"I wish we had not quitted Annet, my beloved," exclaimed the young
nobleman; "but see, there are more lights. 'Tis this orchard that hid
them. Yes, yes! dear Rose, we are at length coming near the camp."
"Thank God!" replied Rose d'Albret: but she said no more; for with the
sense of relief which she experienced at the thought of finding repose
even for a night, were mingled manifold doubts and apprehensions
regarding the future, as well as all the complicated emotions which
might well thrill through a woman's heart, at the idea of presenting
herself before the many eyes of a strange court, under such
circumstances, and at such a moment.
As they advanced, and turned the low wall of a small farm, a new scene
broke upon their sight. The village, which was extensive, stretched
away to the right; and, amongst the gardens and orchards, a thousand
lights were to be seen, either passing along from one place to another
as officers and messengers sped from regiment to regiment, or fixed
though flickering in one place, where the soldiery had lighted fires
to keep themselves warm during the night and to dry their clothing,
wetted by the frequent showers which had diversified the day.
Sounds innumerable too met the ear as they came nearer,--first a faint
noise, then a mingled roar like the rushing of a torrent; and then
various noises began to detach themselves from the rest,--loud
laughter--the merry song--the solemn hymn--the hoarse shout--the word
of command--the call of one companion to another--the hammering of the
blacksmith's anvil--the groaning of the forge--the clash of steel, as
the armourers and farriers plied the busy stroke, repairing arms and
shoeing horses, and once or twice the shrill blast of the trumpet.
No challenge was given as they rode on, for the position of the enemy
was now exactly ascertained, and surprise was not expected; but one or
two of the officers advanced to the side of the road from the
neighbouring gardens, and gazed for an instant upon the passing troop,
to see if they recognised any friends amongst the new comers, as the
light of the watch-fire flashed upon their faces.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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