The face of the man who stood there and watched was very pale, either with fear or some other emotion, and every now and then he approached a tree to which three horses were tied--one of which was fully caparisoned for war--examined the bridles, and saw that all was right, as if he were anxious that every thing should be ready, either for strife or flight. While he was thus employed, two other men came up, slowly climbing the hill from the eastward; but there was nothing in the appearance of either to give any alarm to him who was watching there. The one was a round, short personage, with a countenance on which nature had stamped cheerful good-humor, though his eyes had now in them an expression of wild anxiety, which showed that he knew what scene was about to be enacted below. The other was a tall, gaunt man, far past the middle age, but his face betrayed no emotion. It was still and pale as that of death, and changed not even after they had reached a point where the whole array of the field was set out before them. His brow, however, wore a heavy frown; but that expression seemed habitual, and not produced by any transitory feeling. Both the strangers were habited in the long, gray gown of the monk, with a girdle of plain cord, and the string of beads attached; besides which, the elder man carried in his hand a staff, and a large ebony crucifix.
The moment their heads rose above the slope, so that they could see over into the plain beyond, the younger and the stouter man stopped suddenly, with a look of some alarm, as if the moving mass of soldiery had been close to him. "Jesu Maria!" he exclaimed; "are those the English, brother Albert? I did not know they were half to near."
The other answered nothing, and his countenance changed not while his eye ran over the whole country beneath him, with the calm, deliberate, marking look of a man who had beheld such scenes before.
Suddenly, on the right, over the tops of the trees, rose up a dense cloud of smoke, which, rolling in large volumes into the air, became tinged with a dark red hue, and speckled with sparks of fire.
"What is that? what is that?" cried the younger monk. "That must be some place on fire at Aubain."
"No, no," replied the other, speaking for the first time; "that is much nearer. It is either at Teneur, or at the farm of our priory of St. George. Can the English king have thrown out his right wing so far in order to take our army on the flank? If so, one charge would ruin him. But no; he is too wise for that. It must be a stratagem to deceive the Constable."
As he spoke, the first comer moved away from the horses and joined them, saying, "God help us! this is a terrible scene, good fathers."
The elder monk gazed at him with his motionless countenance, but answered nothing; and the younger one replied, much in his own tone, "A terrible scene, indeed, my son--a terrible scene, indeed! I know not whether it be more so to stand as a mere spectator, and witness such a sight as will soon be before us, or to mingle in the fray, and lose part of its horrors by sharing in its fury."
"Oh, I have no doubt which," answered the other. "My mind is quite made up on that subject."
"You may be a man of war," replied the other. "Indeed, these armed horses seem to speak it."