Saint Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot WarsHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
Saint Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot Wars
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
France -- History -- Wars of the Huguenots, 1562-1598 -- Fiction
"But we must not delay, aunt," Francois said, turning again to her.
"My mother's commands were urgent, that I was not to delay a moment
in private talk with you, but to bring you speedily on to her;
therefore I pray you to mount again and ride on with me, for
doubtless she is watching impatiently now, and will chide me
rarely, if we linger."
Accordingly the party remounted at once, and rode forward to the
chateau. A dozen men-at-arms were drawn up at the gate and, on the
steps of the entrance from the courtyard into the chateau itself,
the countess was standing. Francois leapt from his horse, and was
by the side of his aunt as Philip reined in his horse. Taking his
hand, she sprang lightly from the saddle, and in a moment the two
sisters fell into each others' arms.
It was more than twenty years since they last met, but time had
dealt gently with them both. The countess had changed least. She
was two or three years older than Marie, was tall, and had been
somewhat stately even as a girl. She had had many cares, but her
position had always been assured; as the wife of a powerful noble
she had been accustomed to be treated with deference and respect,
and although the troubles of the times and the loss of her husband
had left their marks, she was still a fair and stately woman at the
age of forty-three. Marie, upon the other hand, had lived an
untroubled life for the past twenty years. She had married a man
who was considered beneath her, but the match had been in every way
a happy one. Her husband was devoted to her, and the expression of
her face showed that she was a thoroughly contented and happy
woman.
"You are just what I fancied you would be, Marie, a quiet little
home bird, living in your nest beyond the sea, and free from all
the troubles and anxieties of our unhappy country. You have been
good to write so often, far better than I have been; and I seem to
know all about your quiet, well-ordered home, and your good husband
and his business that flourishes so. I thought you were a little
foolish in your choice, and that our father was wrong in mating you
as he did; but it has turned out well, and you have been living in
quiet waters, while we have been encountering a sea of troubles.
"And this tall youth is our nephew, Philip? I wish you could have
brought over Lucie with you. It would have been pleasant, indeed,
for us three sisters to be reunited again, if only for a time. Why,
your Philip is taller than Francois, and yet he is two years
younger. I congratulate you and Lucie upon him.
"Salute me, nephew. I had not looked to see so proper a youth. You
show the blood of the De Moulins plainly, Philip. I suppose you get
your height and your strength from your English father?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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