“To think that we shall none of us ever come back again!” said Maragougnia, in a melancholy voice, as he wiped away a tear with the sleeve of his chain-mail. “Pshaw! who knows?” broke in Porc-en-Truie, with a smile. “Let us set out, and then we can see!” They appointed to meet on the borders of the forest, and within an hour afterwards they’ were all on the spot, equipped for war or for travel. Porc-en-Truie, Lord of Machavoine, was a great fellow of thirty years of age, more skilled in avoiding blows than in dealing them. He invariably shirked all his military duties, not because he was a coward, but because he was incorrigibly idle. He had been known to tramp three hours afoot to save himself the trouble of saddling his horse, and he had killed his dearest friend in a tournament, in order to terminate a long and fatiguing tilting match. He arrived at the rendezvous on horseback, with no weapon but his sword. “How imprudent!” cried Allegrignac, the moment he saw him coming. “Are we going to a wedding only, or are you desirous of emulating Miton’s great feat at the Tourney of Fronsac?” “I hate a load of weapons, and I don’t mean to kill myself for this Mitaine--for whom, between you and me, I don’t care a grain of mustard-seed!” [Illustration: 172] Allegrignac of Cognac, Count of Salençon, was twenty-five years of age, and six feet six high. He had an open countenance, a stout heart, an untiring tongue, limbs of steel, a stomach of leather, and a very slender patrimony. His hair was curly, his teeth were white. He was as proud as a Spaniard, as brave as a Frenchman, as simple-minded as a goose. He was possessed of a pleasant contralto voice, a cheerful spirit, and a grey horse called Serenade. Picture to yourself a figure clad in complete steel, and with weapons of vast weight, like one of those armed and bandy-legged giants you see in a procession of trades, capable of lifting enormous weights, not to mention cattle, and any other unconsidered trifles he could lay hands on, and you have a portrait of the Baron of Mont-Rognon, Lord of Bourglastic, Tortebesse, and elsewhere. This huge mass of muscle existed only to eat and drink. He was a descendant of Esau on his father’s side, and of Gargantua on his mother’s. He once performed a gigantic feat--he killed six hundred Saracens who happened to get in his way as he was going to dinner. He had an elastic stomach, and a mouth armed with four rows of teeth. Having described his stomach and his mouth, I need not go on with the likeness, for all that remained were mere incidental appurtenances. He arrived third at the place of meeting, leading by the halter a mule laden with provisions and bottles. “What’s this?” said Allegrignac, laughingly. “That!” said Mont-Rognon, offended at his bluntness. “That’s supper.” “What’s the use of that?” said Porc-en-Truie. Mont-Rognon the Monstrous. Mont-Rognon in a hurry for his dinner