attendants, one to each rein of Durward's bridle, in
order to prevent the risk of his falling from his horse.

When at length they reached the town of Landrecy, the Count, in
compassion to the youth, who had now been in a great measure without
sleep for three nights, allowed himself and his retinue a halt of four
hours, for rest and refreshment. Deep and sound were Quentin's slumbers,
until they were broken by the sound of the Count's trumpet, and the cry
of his Fouriers [subordinate officers who secure quarters for the army
while manoeuvring] and harbingers, "Debout! debout! Ha! Messires, en
route, en route! [arise, let us set out!]"

Yet, unwelcomely early as the tones came, they awaked him a different
being in strength and spirits from what he had fallen asleep. Confidence
in himself and his fortunes returned with his reviving spirits, and
with the rising sun. He thought of his love no longer as a desperate
and fantastic dream, but as a high and invigorating principle, to be
cherished in his bosom, although he might never purpose to himself,
under all the difficulties by which he was beset, to bring it to any
prosperous issue.

"The pilot," he reflected, "steers his bark by the polar star, although
he never expects to become possessor of it, and the thoughts of Isabelle
of Croye shall make me a worthy man at arms, though I may never see
her more. When she hears that a Scottish soldier named Quentin Durward
distinguished himself in a well fought field, or left his body on the
breach of a disputed fortress, she will remember the companion of
her journey, as one who did all in his power to avert the snares and
misfortunes which beset it, and perhaps will honour his memory with a
tear, his coffin with a garland."

In this manly mood of bearing his misfortune, Quentin felt himself more
able to receive and reply to the jests of the Count of Crevecoeur, who
passed several on his alleged effeminacy and incapacity of undergoing
fatigue. The young Scot accommodated himself so good humouredly to the
Count's raillery, and replied at once so happily and so respectfully,
that the change of his tone and manner made obviously a more favourable
impression on the Count than he had entertained from his prisoner's
conduct during the preceding evening, when, rendered irritable by the
feelings of his situation, he was alternately moodily silent or fiercely
argumentative. The veteran soldier began at length to take notice of his
young