ateau and its
mistresses, seem one day as dim? And if one bit of life could fade
so quickly at the unrolling of another, and seem in a moment pale and
colourless, would all life some day and somewhere, and all the things
we--But enough! I was growing foolish. I sprang up and kicked the wood
together, and, taking up the gun, began to pace to and fro under
the cliff. Strange that a little moonlight, a few stars, a breath of
solitude should carry a man back to childhood and childish things.

. . . . . .

It was three in the afternoon of the next day, and the sun lay hot on
the oak groves, and the air was full of warmth as we began to climb the
slope, midway up which the road to Auch shoots out of the track. The
yellow bracken and the fallen leaves underfoot seemed to throw up light
of themselves; and here and there a patch of ruddy beech lay like a
bloodstain on the hillside. In front a herd of pigs routed among the
mast, and grunted lazily; and high above us a boy lay watching them. 'We
part here,' I said to my companion.

It was my plan to ride a little way along the road to Auch so as to
blind his eyes; then, leaving my horse in the forest, I would go on foot
to the Chateau. 'The sooner the better!' he answered with a snarl. 'And
I hope I may never see your face again, Monsieur.'

But when we came to the wooden cross at the fork of the roads, and were
about to part, the boy we had seen leapt out of the fern and came to
meet us.

'Hollo!' he cried in a sing-song tone.

'Well,' my companion answered, drawing rein impatiently. 'What is it?'

'There are soldiers in the village.'

'Soldiers,' Antoine cried incredulously.

'Ay, devils on horseback,' the lad answered, spitting on the ground.
'Three score of them. From Auch.'

Antoine turned to me, his face transformed with fury.

'Curse you!' he cried. 'This is some of your work. Now we are all
undone. And my mistresses? SACRE! if I had that gun I would shoot you
like a rat.'

'Steady, fool,' I answered roughly. 'I know no more of this than you
do.'

Which was so true that my surprise was at least as great as his, and
better grounded. The Cardinal, who rarely made a change of front, had
sent me hither that he might not be forced to send soldiers, and run
the risk of all that might arise from such a movement. What of this
invasion, then, than which nothing could be less consistent with his
plans? I wondered. It was possible that the travelling merchants, before