Count Hannibal

For whatever Tavannes' motive, it was plain that he was in no hurry to

reach his destination. Nor for that matter were any of his company.

Madame St. Lo, who had seized the opportunity of escaping from the

capital under her cousin's escort, was in an ill-humour with cities, and

declaimed much on the joys of a cell in the woods. For the time the

coarsest nature and the dullest rider had had enough of alarums and

conflicts.

The whole company, indeed, though it moved in some fashion of array with

an avant and a rear-guard, the ladies riding together, and Count Hannibal

proceeding solitary in the midst, formed as peaceful a band, and one as

innocently diverted, as if no man of them had ever grasped pike or blown

a match. There was an old rider among them who had seen the sack of

Rome, and the dead face of the great Constable the idol of the Free

Companies. But he had a taste for simples and much skill in them; and

when Madame had once seen Badelon on his knees in the grass searching for

plants, she lost her fear of him. Bigot, with his low brow and matted

hair, was the abject slave of Suzanne, Madame St. Lo's woman, who twitted

him mercilessly on his Norman patois, and poured the vials of her scorn

on him a dozen times a day. In all, with La Tribe and the Carlats,

Madame St. Lo's servants, and the Countess's following, they numbered not

far short of two score; and when they halted at noon, and under the

shadow of some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed to the

tinkle of Madame St. Lo's lute, it was difficult to believe that Paris

existed, or that these same people had so lately left its blood-stained

pavements.

They halted this morning a little earlier than usual. Madame St. Lo had

barely answered her companion's question before the subject of their

discussion swung himself from old Sancho's back, and stood waiting to

assist them to dismount. Behind him, where the green valley through

which the road passed narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood among

willows at the foot of a mound. On the mound behind it a ruined castle

which had stood siege in the Hundred Years' War raised its grey walls;

and beyond this the stream which turned the mill poured over rocks with a

cool rushing sound that proved irresistible. The men, their horses

watered and hobbled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below the

falls; and after a moment's hesitation Count Hannibal rose from the grass

on which he had flung himself.

"Guard that for me, Madame," he said. And he dropped a packet, bravely

sealed and tied with a silk thread, into the Countess's lap. "'Twill be

safer than leaving it in my clothes. Ohe!" And he turned to Madame St.

Lo. "Would you fancy a life that was all gipsying, cousin?" And if

there was irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes.