he grew so savage about it that presently we desisted. Regnard was far
more debonair and reasonable, but I have always distrusted that man
who is entirely reasonable in his loves and his hates.

At last the June days came to an end, and with it, the gorgeous
pageantry of the camp of Radewitz. In a night the splendid scene
vanished. The silken tents, the canvas palaces, suddenly were no more.
The fleet of purple-sailed pleasure boats upon the Elbe floated away;
the fair green slopes, the gardens created as if by magic were
trampled on by thirty thousand men on the march. The highway was
choked with coaches and baggage-wagons and horsemen and horsewomen,
and the inns on the roads that led from Radewitz were like camps, so
many persons being forced to lodge out of doors. Count Saxe and
myself, with Gaston Cheverny and faithful Beauvais, the valet, and
other servants, scarcely slept in a bed from the time we left Radewitz
until we reached Brussels. One reason was, that in common with other
officers, Count Saxe was more generous than prudent, and after having
lodged with kings at the camp, often he had not the money for a good
inn. Then we were glad to take up our quarters in a roomy, clean barn;
and one or two of the June nights we slept on the ground in our
cloaks, as soldiers should.

In Brussels, my master made known his necessities to his father, the
King of Saxony, who sent him a splendid remittance. Count Saxe
remained in Brussels while awaiting this remittance, so that he might
judiciously determine, in advance, how to spend it; and after it came,
he naturally continued there, so as to carry out the intentions so
carefully formed.

This time he allowed me to spend in Brabant, and also gave Gaston
Cheverny leave; and Gaston inviting, or rather commanding me to become
his guest, we had a whole fortnight at the Manoir Cheverny.

Regnard went to his own castle of Haret. He civilly entreated me to
visit him, but Gaston putting in his claim strongly to all my time, I
was, very willingly, driven to decline.

We parted from Regnard at Brussels, and rode out in a morning to the
Manoir Cheverny. At every step of the road, Gaston swore a new, strong
and strange oath, that he was done with Mademoiselle Capello; that no
word or act of hers could ever induce him to return to her, no, not if
she made her way from the chateau of Capello to the Manoir Cheverny on
her knees. From reproaching her, he turned to bitterly reviling m