castle.

From the moment I had noticed that Gaston Cheverny wielded his knife
in his right hand, my mind had been in a whirl. That right hand and
arm, so swift, so sure, so steady, so strong, was the one he had said
was so weak, that he could not even guide a pen with it, nor play the
guitar. Francezka's parting warning had been to remember the infirmity
of that arm--and then--

We rode along briskly the two leagues to the castle. Gaston Cheverny
was naturally elate, and even in the bravest of men, there is an
exhilaration, a sort of intoxication at finding one's self alive when
the chance of death was very imminent. I fell behind all the party,
and was rallied by Count Saxe on my taciturnity, and accused of
jealousy of Gaston Cheverny's prowess, but I let him have his joke.

When we reached the castle, we went to our rooms. Mine was the little
one I speak of, next to Count Saxe's bedchamber. When I was washing
off by candle-light the stains of the chase--for it was then after
dark--my master entered. He looked at me significantly, going through
with Gaston's motion of plunging the knife into the wild boar; he knew
the story of that weakly arm. I looked back at him and shook my head;
I could no more understand it than he.

We hastened down to the state supper in the great dining hall. The
king was indisposed or lazy, so his Majesty did not appear, and I
think the party was the gayer thereby. There was but one long table in
the dining hall, and at it were seated above a hundred persons. I was
near the foot, and Gaston Cheverny, in honor of his exploit, sat next
Count Saxe. Francezka sat about midway the table, with a gallant on
each side of her.

The aspect of happiness she had shown since the night before remained
with her. She wore both powder and patches, and according to the
fashion, there was a tinge of rouge upon her cheek. She was
magnificently dressed in a pale green gown, the color of water-cress,
embroidered in silver, and wore a splendid head-dress. I thought I had
never seen her more truly the great lady. She knew, of course, what
Gaston's adventure had been, but I suppose he had not given her all
the particulars.

The supper was singularly merry, perhaps owing to the absence of the
king. The singing at the table was entirely of hunting songs; the
little rascals of pages took good care to keep Gaston's glass
filled--he was a great hero with them then. When it came time for the
toasts, Count Saxe aros