Count Hannibal

"But why," Madame St. Lo asked, sticking her arms akimbo, "why stay in

this forsaken place a day and a night, when six hours in the saddle would

set us in Angers?"

"Because," Tavannes replied coldly--he and his cousin were walking before

the gateway of the inn--"the Countess is not well, and will be the

better, I think, for staying a day."

"She slept soundly enough! I'll answer for that!"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"She never raised her head this morning, though my women were shrieking

'Murder!' next door, and--Name of Heaven!" Madame resumed, after breaking

off abruptly, and shading her eyes with her hand, "what comes here? Is

it a funeral? Or a pilgrimage? If all the priests about here are as

black, no wonder M. Rabelais fell out with them!"

The inn stood without the walls for the convenience of those who wished

to take the road early: a little also, perhaps, because food and forage

were cheaper, and the wine paid no town-dues. Four great roads met

before the house, along the most easterly of which the sombre company

which had caught Madame St. Lo's attention could be seen approaching. At

first Count Hannibal supposed with his companion that the travellers were

conveying to the grave the corpse of some person of distinction; for the

cortege consisted mainly of priests and the like mounted on mules, and

clothed for the most part in black. Black also was the small banner

which waved above them, and bore in place of arms the emblem of the

Bleeding Heart. But a second glance failed to discover either litter or

bier; and a nearer approach showed that the travellers, whether they wore

the tonsure or not, bore weapons of one kind or another.

Suddenly Madame St. Lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in great

astonishment that she knew them.

"Why, there is Father Boucher, the Cure of St. Benoist!" she said, "and

Father Pezelay of St. Magloire. And there is another I know, though I

cannot remember his name! They are preachers from Paris! That is who

they are! But what can they be doing here? Is it a pilgrimage, think

you?"

"Ay, a pilgrimage of Blood!" Count Hannibal answered between his teeth.

And, turning to him to learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyes

which portended a storm. Before she could ask a question, however, the

gloomy company, which had first appeared in the distance, moving, an inky

blot, through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had drawn near, and

was almost abreast of them. Stepping from her side, he raised his hand

and arrested the march.

"Who is master here?" he asked haughtily.

"I am the leader," answered a stout pompous Churchman, whose small

malevolent eyes belied the sallow fatuity of his face. "I, M. de

Tavannes, by your leave."