The Huguenot: A Tale of the French Protestants. Volumes I-IIIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Huguenot: A Tale of the French Protestants. Volumes I-III
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Huguenots -- Fiction
The Count on his part made no comment, but merely nodded his head to
Pelisson; and when the Chevalier's brief conversation was at an end,
they rode on. The village which they had fixed upon for their
resting-place that night was a large straggling open collection of
houses, which had grown up on either side of the wide road, simply
because it happened to be at a convenient distance from many other
places. The buildings were scattered, and separated by large gardens
or courts, and the inn itself was in fact the only respectable
dwelling in the place, having been an old brick-built country seat in
former days, with the walls that defended it from attack still
standing round the court, the windows rattling and quivering with the
wind and their antiquity, the rooms wide and lofty, and perhaps a
little cheerless, and the kitchen, which formed the entrance, as black
as the smoke of many generations could render it.
The whole house was prepared to meet the Count de Morseiul, his coming
having been announced by the servants sent on with the horses; and did
ducks and fowls in various countries write the histories of their
several races, that morning would have been memorable for the massacre
that took place, and only be comparable to the day of St. Bartholomew.
But the culinary art was great in France then as it is now, and the
cook, knowing that she had a difficult task to perform, exerted her
utmost ingenuity to render tough poultry tender, and insipid viands
savoury, for the distinguished guest that was to dine and sleep within
those walls. Though the preparations had been begun at an early hour,
yet they were by no means concluded when the party arrived; and while
Jerome Riquet plunged into the kitchen, and communicated to the cook a
thousand secrets from the vast stores of his own mind, the Count and
his friend gazed forth from the window of a high, wide, square-shaped
room over the wide prospect, which lay in gentle undulations beneath
their eyes, with the road that they themselves had just passed taking,
as it were, a standing leap over each of the little hills that it met
with in its way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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