“Charlemagne has ordered us to perish for him,” broke in the Lord of Bourglastic, “but he did not stipulate that we should perish of hunger.” [Illustration: 173] Maragougnia, Count of Riom, was the last to arrive. He was equipped in the most gloomy style. His armour was of browned steel, sprinkled with silver tears. From the coronet that surmounted his helmet sprang a few mangy black feathers, which drooped over his shoulders like the branches of a weeping willow, and all the rest of his accoutrements were to match. He had one extraordinary quality, which was his strong point--instead of making him lose his head, fear only gave him increased presence of mind. They related deeds of prowess of his which were, in reality, only prodigies of cowardice. He did everything with a profound air of melancholy. His first wife, they say, died of yawning; the second perished of sheer weariness in three weeks. Behind him came a page, who might be considered to have originated the sombre livery worn nine hundred years later by the page of the Duchess of Marlborough.* * Vide “Malbrouck:”-- “Elle voit venir son page De unir tout habillé.” This lugubrious squire bore the count’s change of arms--to wit: two daggers of mercy; three swords, various; one lance; one helmet; one morion; two daggers, poisoned; one battle-axe; one flail, iron; one shield; one breastplate; one shirt of mail; two pairs of gauntlets; three pairs of spurs. “Good heavens!” said Allegrignac; “are we going to equip all the nation for war? Look, Porc-en-Truie! the Count of Riom has stripped the armouries of his ten castles.” “I wouldn’t stir an inch,” said Porc-en-Truie, in the interval of a couple of yawns, “to assure myself that Maragougnia has done something silly. If you assured me to the contrary, I might perhaps be surprised into getting up to see. And yet no! I couldn’t believe it; so I should stay where I was.” Porc-en-Truie, I must observe, sat himself down on the grass the moment he arrived. “You’re quite welcome to laugh at my prudence,” said Maragougnia, “but I don’t forget we are going to certain death.” “Certain death! Fiddlesticks! I mean yet to rival the Methusalems of the period,” said Porc-en-Truie, rising. “And now let’s be off, if we are to reach Alagon to-night.” “To prepare for death,” said Maragougnia, dashing away a tear with his gauntlet. “To go to sleep,” said Porc-en-Truie, with a yawn. “To try a throw with the dice,” said Allegrignac, jingling the money in his purse. “To make a good supper,” said Mont-Rognon, with a hollow voice, gnashing his teeth like castanets. In ten minutes the four knights had entered the wood. At sunset Alleericmac was hammering with his fist at the door of the Fonda del Caïman. [Illustration: 174] [Illustration: 175] CHAPTER II. THE SIGN OF THE CROCODILE.