"Oh, but there has been a change," answered De Royans. "She is the same, and yet another. It is impossible to describe how beautiful she has grown. Every line in her face has become fine and delicate. The colors have grown clear and pure; the roses blossom in her cheek; the morning star is sparkling in her eyes; warm as the summer, yet dewy as the daybreak. But that is not all. There is an inconceivable grace in her movements, unlike any thing I ever saw. Her quickest gesture is so easy that it seems slow, and her lightest change of attitude brings out some new perfection in her symmetry; and through the whole there seems a soul, a spirit shining like a light upon every thing around. Why, the old Bishop of Longres himself said, the other day, that, from the parting of her hair to the sole of her foot, she was all beauty. The good man, indeed, said he did not know whether it was the beauty of holiness; but he hoped so."
"Why, you seem in love with her yourself, De Royans," answered Jean Charost.
"Go and see--go and see," replied his companion. "She will greet you right willingly; for she is mild and humble, and ever glad to welcome an old acquaintance."
"But where can I find her?" asked Jean Charost.
"Oh, you will find her at the Strangers' Lodging at the abbey," answered De Royans. "The dauphin has his head-quarters there, with the dauphiness and two or three of her ladies. Were I you, I would go to her the first; for her influence is certain, however it comes. But you must change your monk's garb, man; for, though they lodge at the abbey, the court is not very fond of the friars. Ah, here comes our landlord. Now, Monsieur Langrin, what has made you so long?"
"The arrival of Madame De Giac, sir," answered the host. "I can but give the gentleman a mere closet to sleep in, which I destined for another; but of course, as your friend, he must have it; and as for supper, it is on the table, with good wine to boot."
CHAPTER XXXV.
Towns have their varying expressions as well as human faces; and the aspect of Monterreau, on the tenth of September, one thousand four hundred and nineteen, presented a curious appearance, but one which those who have lived long on the face of the earth must sometimes have seen in moments of great excitement and expectation. The city looked gay, for it was filled with people; and the splendor-loving soldiery, in their arms, seen in every direction, gave a brilliancy to the streets which in ordinary times they did not possess. The day was bright and beautiful, too; one of those clear, warm, September days, which often succeed a frosty morning; and the trees, which were then mingled with the vineyards on the heights of Surville, caught the rays of the sun upon foliage gently tinged with the tints of autumn. The bells of the churches rang out, for it was the Sabbath; and many a fair dame, in sparkling attire and with rosary on wrist, flaunted her Sunday finery along the streets, or might be seen gliding in through the dark portal to join in the service of the day. Still, there was a sort of silent solemnity over the place, an uneasy calm, if I may use an expression which seems to imply a contradiction--an oppressive expectation. Whenever the bell ceased, there seemed no other sound. Men walked in groups, and spoke not; even the women bated their breath and conversed in lower tones.
Early in the morning, a gay train had passed into the castle, after circling the town till a gate, opening beyond the walls into the fields, had been reached. There were ladies and waiting-women, and several gentlemen of gallant mien, and a small troop of archers. But the castle gates swallowed them up, and nothing more was seen of them for several hours. From time to time, two or three horsemen rode out of the town, and sometimes a small party re-entered it; but these were the only occurrences which gave any appearance of movement to the scene till after the hour of noon.
About nine o'clock in the morning, indeed, a young man, in the dress of a monk, rode in on a mule, put up his beast at a stable, where he was obliged to use the name of the Marquis De Royans to obtain any attention, and then proceeded on foot to a large house situated near the bridge over the Yonne. There were a number of people at the door, and he made some inquiries, holding a letter in his hand. The answer seemed unsatisfactory; for he turned away, and walked through the town, inquiring for the abbey, which lay upon the other side.