, and the Duke de
Quinet declaring that he should do his best to divide the journey into
stages not too long for Philip, since he was anxious to give his mother
plenty of time to make preparations for her royal guest.

He had, however, little reckoned on the young King's promptitude. The
first courier he had dispatched was overtaken at a _cabaret_ only five
leagues from Pont de Dronne, baiting his horse, as he said; the second
was found on the road with a lame horse; and the halt a day's journey
remained beyond it. The last stage had been ridden, much to the Duke's
discontent, for it brought them to a mere village inn, with scarcely any
accommodation. The only tolerable bed was resigned by the King to the
use of Philip, whose looks spoke the exhaustion of which his tongue
scorned to complain. So painful and feverish a night ensued that
Eustacie was anxious that he should not move until the Duke should,
as he promised, send a mule litter back for him; but this proposal he
resented; and in the height of his constitutional obstinacy, appeared
booted and spurred at the first signal to mount.

Nor could Eustacie, as she soon perceived, annoy him more than by
showing her solicitude for him, or attracting to him the notice of the
other cavaliers. As the only lady of the party, she received a great
deal of attention, with some of which she would gladly have dispensed.
Whether it were the King's habit of calling her '_la Belle Eurydice_,' or
because, as she said, he was '_si laid_' and reminded her of old unhappy
days of constraint, she did not like him, and had almost displeased her
husband and his brother by saying so. She would gladly have avoided the
gallantries of this day's ride by remaining with Philip at the inn; but
not only was this impossible, but the peculiar ill-temper of concealed
suffering made Philip drive her off whenever she approached him with
inquiries; so that she was forced to leave him to his brother and
Osbert, and ride forward between the King and the Duke, the last of whom
she really liked.

Welcome was the sight of the grand old chateau, its mighty wings of
chestnut forest stretching up the hills on either side, and the
stately avenue extending before it; but just then the last courier was
discovered, reeling in his saddle under the effects of repeated toasts
in honour of Navarre and Quinet.

'We are fairly sped,' said the Duke to Eustacie, shrugging his shoulders
between amusement and dismay.

'