With such thoughts for company, he rode on in silence. They had now come out upon park-like land, where great oaks cast black rings of shade; and a lake, harbouring many wild-fowl, shone like a mirror of silver. There was a great wood, black and seemingly impenetrable, upon the far shore of the lake, and when de Guyon observed this, he drew rein and surveyed his environment.
"Well, rogue," said he to Pepin, "where have you brought us now?"
"By the blood of John, that's what I begin to ask myself."
De Guyon looked at him for a moment with withering contempt in his glance.
"Unspeakable fool," said he, "I have the mind to box your ears as the priest did."
"Aye, that would be something; but look you, my master, a boxed ear will never make a full belly; and I have heard it said that patience is the father of plenty. There's fine ground for a bivouac here, if your Excellency commands. Lord, that I should bring you to bed of a fast!"
He sat scratching his head dolefully while the weary horses began to nibble at the grass and the men to mutter among themselves. Scarce, however, had de Guyon decided that, full or fasting, he could go no further, when the silence was broken of a sudden by the barking of dogs; a very babel of sound arising up, as it were, from the heart of the obstructing wood. Then lights appeared between the trees, and the voices of men were heard.
"Oh, glory be to God for the path that I have followed!" said Pepin, recovering from his momentary bewilderment. "Yonder, my master, is the Château aux Loups."
"It lies in the thicket, then?"
"Aye, as close surrounded with trees as a fine woman with petticoats. You could no more come up to it without guide than fly to heaven with half a paternoster. Blessed be the holy patron that hath brought me!"
But de Guyon no longer paid heed to him.
"Wind a blast on the horn," said he.
The sleeping forest echoed the music of the note, and the little troop rode on.
CHAPTER III
GABRIELLE DE VERNET.
Pepin had spoken the truth about the château. It lay amongst the trees like a kernel in a nut. Many of the gigantic oaks which girdled it about thrust their long branches against the ramparts that looked down upon its narrow fosse. A man might have ridden in the forest for a year, and have known nothing of the turreted, castle-like building whereto Gabrielle de Vernet had, after the death of the Count, withdrawn to keep herself unspotted from the world. Paul de Guyon, halting in parley with a lackey at the wood's edge, could espy neither path nor gateway; and suffered his horse to be led through the mazy labyrinth of tree and bush, until he stood at last before the drawbridge and clattered into the ill-paved courtyard.
"My lady is at her devotions," said the man, "but I doubt not she will see your Excellency at once. Meanwhile, I will look to the comfort of your men."
"Ah," said Pepin, smacking his lips, "an honest soup with lettuce and leeks, a nice piece of bouillé, a frangipani and some green peas à la bourgeoise."
The man looked at him with amazement.
"It is the eve of the feast of St. Philip and St. James," said he simply, "monsieur will not wish to break the fast."
"To break the fast!" gasped Pepin, "aye, my friend, I have the mind to break it and that right soon. But I was ever a man of simple tastes—a well-boiled capon now!"
The servant shrugged his shoulders and turned to de Guyon.
"If only we had known of your Excellency's coming," said he. "It was otherwise before my master died. But now ah, we are put to shame in our own house!"
"Suffer no shame on my account, good friend," said de Guyon, "I am a soldier and look for a soldier's fare. Your mistress is at her devotions, did you say?"
"In the chapel yonder, monsieur "
"Then I came fortunately. Pepin, look to the men and behave yourself. I am going to say my prayers."
"Ho, ho," said Pepin to himself, "mon maître goes to pray. Surely the stars will fall!"
The chapel was upon the left side of the courtyard, a quaint Norman nook with fine rounded arches and pilaster-like buttresses, which had warred with the centuries and won victories. A stream of light was poured through its open but richly carved doorway, and the narrow windows were so many pictures of saints and angels hung up upon the begrimed walls. De Guyon, standing in the porch, observed many little shrines with candles burning before them, and he could hear the voice of the priest soft in a rippling monotone of prayer. When at last he ventured to enter, and to kneel at the bottom of the nave, the flicker of tapers and the long shadows they cast in the ashes and upon the bare stone pavement, blinded his eyes to any observation of the few worshippers who knelt before the high altar. But the magnificent ornaments of the chapel made themselves plain; and he doubted no longer those rumours of Gabrielle de Vernet's wealth which had come to the Court and had made "the little Huguenot" a subject for the gossip of the curious and of the king. None but a very rich woman, he said, could have heaped those altars with such jewelled crosses and such inlaid candlesticks. The very crucifix nailed to the wall above the pulpit must have been worth the salary of an almoner. Soft carpets, unsurpassable carvings of wood, pictures of the Christ and of saints, shrines whereon diamonds and rubies and precious stones caught the tapers' light, and adding to it their own fires, scattered dancing rays upon the gloom, were evidences of an ardent love of church—and of a well-filled purse. Whatever might have been the creed of the girlish mistress of the Château aux Loups, and there were many who avowed that in her heart she despised the Catholic religion, and was even less than a good Protestant, she yet conformed to the outward observance of the old forms. This chapel was an unanswerable witness to her generosity. It remained for the lieutenant to learn if it were also a witness to her sincerity.
To de Guyon, steeped in the unending niaiseries of the Court, with the glare of masquerade and banquet still in his eyes, the chill and gloom of this chapel were sobering. As he knelt at the foot of a great pillar and peered into the darkness of the chancel for the tapers before the tabernacle were unlighted—the reality of his task and the absurdity of it forced themselves upon his mind. It was the king's hope to lure "the little Huguenot" from her forest fastness, and to make sport of her creed; and—as de Guyon did not doubt—of her honour at the palace. A debauched appetite was made strong again in this thought of so dainty a dish. If only the mistress of the château could be tempted by intrigue to set