lanced on the eye of the Count, who now
surveyed, with a more enquiring look, the man, that held the knapsack.
He was a tall robust figure, of a hard countenance, and had short black
hair, curling in his neck. Instead of the hunter's dress, he wore a
faded military uniform; sandals were laced on his broad legs, and a kind
of short trowsers hung from his waist. On his head he wore a leathern
cap, somewhat resembling in shape an ancient Roman helmet; but the
brows that scowled beneath it, would have characterized those of the
barbarians, who conquered Rome, rather than those of a Roman soldier.
The Count, at length, turned away his eyes, and remained silent and
thoughtful, till, again raising them, he perceived a figure standing in
an obscure part of the hall, fixed in attentive gaze on St. Foix, who
was conversing with Blanche, and did not observe this; but the Count,
soon after, saw the same man looking over the shoulder of the soldier as
attentively at himself. He withdrew his eye, when that of the Count met
it, who felt mistrust gathering fast upon his mind, but feared to betray
it in his countenance, and, forcing his features to assume a smile,
addressed Blanche on some indifferent subject. When he again looked
round, he perceived, that the soldier and his companion were gone.

The man, who was called Jacques, now returned from the stone gallery. 'A
fire is lighted there,' said he, 'and the birds are dressing; the table
too is spread there, for that place is warmer than this.'

His companions approved of the removal, and invited their guests to
follow to the gallery, of whom Blanche appeared distressed, and remained
seated, and St. Foix looked at the Count, who said, he preferred the
comfortable blaze of the fire he was then near. The hunters, however,
commended the warmth of the other apartment, and pressed his removal
with such seeming courtesy, that the Count, half doubting, and half
fearful of betraying his doubts, consented to go. The long and ruinous
passages, through which they went, somewhat daunted him, but the
thunder, which now burst in loud peals above, made it dangerous to
quit this place of shelter, and he forbore to provoke his conductors by
shewing that he distrusted them. The hunters led the way, with a
lamp; the Count and St. Foix, who wished to please their hosts by some
instances of familiarity, carried each a seat, and Blanche followed,
with faltering steps. As she passed on, part of her dress ca