I had been glancing anxiously from time to time at the porch of the Benedictine church, in expectation of seeing my devotee appear; and I had soon tired of the harebrained young Marquis, whose light conversation savoured so much of Paris and the old style of the French camp. It bored and disgusted me after the pleasant days I had spent in the pure and virtuous society of Nicola; but now his warning interested me.
'I am to avoid Nanci, you say—why, Marquis?'
'It is full of the enemy.'
'This is indeed unfortunate for me.'
'Rather, as it lies in your front. While my valiant papa, the Marechal-Duke, was occupying himself near Strasburg, Charles IV., with his son, the Prince of Vaudemont, and that young fire-eater, Wolfgang Count Pappenheim, with four thousand chosen troops, crossed the Rhine by a bridge of boats, and reaching the old capital of Lorraine by a forced march, are now actually holding high festival in the ancient palace of the duchy.'
'Parbleu! I must be careful—being under orders, or promise rather, to see a lady to the gates of Nanci.'
'A lady?'
'Yes.'
'From whence?'
'Paris.'