"The good Duke is with the King," rejoined the man; "but s'life I know not whether he will be so long: for fortune alters favour, they say, and times have changed of late--though it is no business of mine, and so I say nothing; but the Duke was ever a friend to the Commons, and to the citizens of Paris more than all."
"Have they had good sport to-day?" demanded Richard of Woodville; for doubtless the reader has already discovered one of the interlocutors in this dialogue. "'Tis somewhat late in the year, is it not, piqueur?"
"Ay that it is, for sundry kinds of game," replied the man; "but there are some not out, and others just coming in; and we are obliged to suit ourselves to the poor old King's health. He is free just now from his black sickness, and would have had a glorious day of it, had not Achille, the subveneur, who is always wrong, and always knows better than any one else, mistaken which way the piste lay. But hark! they are blowing the death: the beast has been killed, and not past this way, foul fall him. My dogs have not had breath to-day."
"Then they will not come hither, I suppose?" said Richard of Woodville.
"Oh, yes! 'tis a thousand chances to one they will," answered the man. "If they force another beast, they must quit that ground, and cross the road to Senlis; and if they return with what they have got, they must take the Paris avenue, so that in either case they will come here."
While he spoke, there was a vast howling of dogs, and blowing of horns at some distance; and Woodville, trusting to the piqueur's sagacity for the direction the Court would take, waited patiently till the sounds accompanying the curée were over, and then gazed down the avenue. In about ten minutes some horsemen began to appear in the road; and then a splendid party issued forth from one of the side alleys, followed by a confused crowd of men, horses, and dogs. They came forward at an easy pace, and Richard of Woodville inquired of his companion, which was the Duke of Burgundy.
"What, do you not know him?" said the man, in some surprise. "Well, keep back, and I will tell you when they are near."
The young Englishman, without reply, reined back his horse for a step or two, so as to take up a position beyond the projecting corner of the wood; and, while the piqueur continued gazing down the avenue, still holding his dogs in the leash, Woodville turned a hasty glance behind him, to see if he could discover anything of his page. The boy was nearer than he thought, but was wisely coming round the back of the savannah, where the turf was soft and somewhat moist, so that his approach escaped both the eyes and ears of the royal attendant, till, approaching his master's side, he said something which, though spoken in a low tone, made the man turn round. At the same moment, however, the first two horsemen passed out of the road into the open space; and immediately after, the principal party appeared.
At its head, a step before any of the rest, came a man, seemingly past the middle age, with grey hair and a noble presence, but with cheeks channelled and withered, more by sickness and care than years. His eye was peculiarly clear and fine, and not a trace was to be seen therein of that fatal malady which devoured more than one-half of his days. His aspect, indeed, was that of a person of high intellect; and though his shoulders were somewhat bowed, and his seat upon his horse not very firm, there were remains of the great beauty of form and dignity of carriage, which had distinguished the unhappy Charles in earlier days.
Close behind the King came a youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age, with a fine, but somewhat fierce and haughty countenance, a cheek colourless and bare, and a bright but haggard eye; and near him rode a somewhat younger lad, of a fresher and more healthy complexion, round whose lip there played ever and anon a gay and wanton smile. Almost on a line with these, were three or four gentlemen, one far advanced in years, and one very young; while the personage nearest the spot where Richard of Woodville sat, seemed still in the lusty prime of manhood, stout but not fat, broad in the shoulders, long in the limbs, though not much above the middle height. He was dressed in high boots, and long striped hose of blue and red, with a close-fitting pourpoint of blue, and a long mantle, with furred sleeves, hanging down to his stirrups. On his head he bore a cap of fine cloth, shaped somewhat like an Indian turban, with a large and splendid ruby in the front, and a feather drooping over his left ear. His carriage was princely and frank, his eye clear and steadfast, and about his lip there was a firm and resolute expression, which well suited the countenance of one who had acquired the name of John the Bold.