Riperdá, Juan Guillermo, Duke of, 1680-1737 -- Fiction; Wharton, Philip Wharton, Duke of, 1698-1731 -- Fiction
He felt his way up the rough stonework of the piers of the arch, and
clambering over it, planted himself behind the great stone scutcheon
of the Phaffenberg arms, which crested its architrave. He strained his
eyes downwards, but could perceive nothing through the double night of
a moonless sky, and the obscuring umbrage of the trees. He thought
he heard a low murmur, as of whispering voices beneath; but he could
not be sure that it was not the wind in the branches. He leaned over
to make closer observation, and had nearly been precipitated into the
midst of his enemies; for a part of the ancient stonework gave way, and
fell with a clattering noise upon the pavement in front of the porch.
Louis had caught by the iron supports of what remained, and so was
saved from too well informing himself of who were below.
The effects of the accident gave him immediate notice of what he
had escaped. Some of the heavy fragments had fallen upon one of the
eves-droppers, whose consequent curses were instant and loud. Other
voices of like import, with wonder how it had happened, were mingled
with commands from one person for caution and silence. Louis wanted
no more to satisfy him, that but for the generous zeal of Wharton, he
might now himself have been lying a wounded wretch under the daggers
of these men. The ruffian who had been knocked down by the fall of the
escutcheon, seemed to be much hurt; for as his companions attempted
to raise him, Louis could distinctly hear him utter the most direful
imprecations against the Sieur Ignatius and the devils in league with
him. The former commanding voice replied in a more conciliatory tone,
"Come, come Spitzberg, this is only a little artillery from the owls!
Don't mind a graze, man; you shall pinion the gallant, in revenge for
these bruises; for I will wait here till sun-rise, rather than again be
baffled by his lucky star."
"I'll pinion him with a witness;" grumbled the fellow, "and make him
confess his heart's blood!"
"Silence, then," reiterated his commander. The order was almost
instantly obeyed; and Louis thinking, after this injunction, he could
learn no more, with a similar caution to that he had observed in
advancing, retreated over the gateway, and descended safely into the
court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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