'Neath misfortune grey,
Like flow'rs in the frost of a wintry night?
Oh, join my lay,
And with me say,
Gué, gué, well-a-day!
The boy's music had contrived to fix the attention of Charles of Montsoreau, and awakened an unexpected interest in the fate of the youth, who seemed capable, not only of the mere mechanical art of singing the words of others, or, like a taught bird, whistling music by rote, but of feeling every word and every tone that he uttered. As the young nobleman looked from his face to that of the man whom he accompanied, and who sat by his side on the bench at the door, gazing at him with an affected smile upon his coarse assassin-like features, he could not but think that it must be a hard fate for that poor, sensitive-looking boy to wander on under the domination of a harsh being like that, and he almost longed to deliver him from it. He gave the boy some additional money, however, which made the man's eyes gleam; and he was proceeding to ask some questions regarding the fate and history of the whole party, when Gondrin and the rest of the servants issued forth with the horses, and Charles of Montsoreau prepared to mount.
"These are the vagabonds, my lord," said Gondrin, "who were up at the castle gates on the day you saved Mademoiselle de Clairvaut from drowning."
"I did not see them," replied Charles of Montsoreau with some surprise--"I did not remark any one there."
"No," answered the boy with a light smile, "no, you were thinking too much of some one else."
"You must have made speed to get here before me," said Charles of Montsoreau.
"Ay, we go by paths, sir, that you cannot go on horseback," joined in the man; "and we will be at the next inn gate before you to-night, if you would like to hear the boy's music again."