"My eyes were not so good," said De Montigni. "Did you ever see the King, Hugh?"
"Not I, Sir," replied the attendant; "but I am certain that was he, and his horse was as red as blood."
His master said nothing in return, but rode on slowly, conversing in a low tone with Rose d'Albret, while from time to time the lightning flashed across their path, but less vividly than before; and ere long the rain began to fall again, and the thunder ceased.
Now came the most fatiguing part of the journey, for the narrow path which they were following entered the hilly and wooded country about Montlandon and Champrond en Gatine, and they were forced to climb and descend continually, over a road on which the snow was but half melted and the mud up to the fetlocks of their horses, while still the torrents poured down from the sky, drenching their garments through and through. The wind had totally ceased, but the air was more sultry and close than ever; and both horses and riders suffered much from its oppressive warmth.
Rose d'Albret became silent from fatigue, for the agitation of the last twenty-four hours now had its full effect upon her; and fears lest her bodily strength should give way, added to what she suffered. There is a calm and persevering endurance which goes far; there is a light-hearted and hopeful energy which carries one through innumerable evils; but the greatest burden upon all exertion is the fear of failing--if once we let apprehension take possession of us. Rose knew that it is so, and she strove hard, for De Montigni's sake, to banish all such alarm; but the time seemed very weary, the way interminably long. She looked anxiously for the first, grey light of morning. More than once--when at the bottom of a hill--she thought she saw some streaks of light over the brow; and as often she was disappointed, till at length, as they issued forth from a thick forest that then lay between Marolles and the edge of La Beauce, her lover exclaimed gladly, "There, there is the daylight, Rose;" and looking forward, she perceived distinctly the faint hues of coming day stretching over the eastern sky, and the dark walls and towers of the castle of Montlandon on its wooded height, standing out in strong relief.
That castle offers now nothing but a picturesque ruin to the eye of the passing traveller; but, at the time I speak of, it was inhabited; and a beacon fire on one of the turrets, waning in lustre with the rising light, told that its owner took part for one side or the other in the civil war.
"If I remember right," said Louis de Montigni, speaking to the man who acted as their guide, "that is Montlandon; cannot we get shelter there?"
"No, Sir, oh no!" replied the soldier. "We must change the colour of our scarfs if we do; for Monsieur de Montlandon is furious for the Union, and a great friend of Monsieur de Chazeul's."
"That is unfortunate indeed," said De Montigni. "Alas! dear Rose, I fear you are well nigh exhausted. Can you go on, my beloved?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Rose, in as cheerful a tone as she could assume; "for another hour, Louis--or two, should it be needed."