me exceedingly dangerous for horsemen not
travelling in large companies. Once they were fairly on the road to
Chartres, however, and clear of the valley of the Seine and its
tangled boscage of trees, Gilles relaxed sufficiently to break a
bottle of wine to the success of their journey and to the new service
and duty upon which Laurence was to enter at the end of it.

Having proposed this toast, he handed the bumper first to Laurence,
who, barely tasting the excellent Poitevin vintage, handed the
leathern bottle back to de Sille. That sallow youth immediately,
without giving his companion a second chance, proceeded to quaff the
entire contents of the pigskin.

Then as the stiff brew penetrated downwards, it was not long before
the favourite of the marshal began to wax full of vanity and swelling
words.

"I tell you what it is," he said, "there would be trembling in the
heart of a very great man when the nine cravens returned without me.
For I am no shaveling ignoramus, but a gentleman of birth; aye, and
one who, though poor, is a near cousin of the marshal himself. I
warrant the rascals who ran away would smart right soundly for leaving
me behind. For Gilles de Sille is no simpleton. He knows more than is
written down in the catechism of Holy Church. None can touch my favour
with my lord, no matter what they testify against me. For me I have
only to ask and have. That is why I take such pride in bringing you to
my Lord of Retz. I know that he will give you a post about his person,
and if you are not a simple fool you may go very far. For my master is
a friend of the King and, what is better, of Louis the Dauphin. He gat
the King back a whole province--a dukedom so they say, from the hands
of some Scots fool that had it off his grandfather for deeds done in
the ancient wars. And in return the King will protect my master
against all his enemies. Do I not speak the truth?"

Laurence hoped that he did, but liked not the veiled hints and
insinuations of some surprising secret in the life of the marshal,
possessed by his dear cousin and well-beloved servant Gilles de Sille.

With an ever loosening tongue the favourite went on:

"A great soldier is our master--none greater, not even Dunois himself.
Why, he rode into Orleans at the right hand of the Maid. None in all
the army was so great with her as he. I tell you, Charles himself
liked it not, and that was the beginning of all the bother of talk
about my lord--ignorant