A night in the forest, exposed to the inclemency of such a storm, had not improved the condition of our horses, worn as they were by so long a journey; and Dagobert, whose old military hardihood a winter passed in the snug stables of the Château d'Amboise had considerably impaired, was especially cut up: thus, after a slow and tedious ride of some miles, I found it necessary that we should halt at a little wayside auberge, about a league beyond Commercy. The host, though reluctant at first to admit any stranger, so great was the terror inspired by Pappenheim's Croats, and the Duke's Imperialists, was ready enough to afford us quarters on perceiving our ecclesiastical garb, in his simplicity believing that, in case of foragers or plunderers coming that way, we might give a little protection to his household—a vain hope indeed.
Nicola was so sad, weary, and reflective, that I did not again renew the ever-present subject of my thoughts and of the past day's conversation, but I kissed her tenderly at the door of her apartment, and bade her adieu for the night, adding that I would summon her betimes on the morrow, which would be the last day of our journey together.
Alas! I knew not that it was the last time I should ever see her again—as my beloved Nicola at least.
Over a stoup of wine, I sat moodily in the recess of a window of the little auberge, recharging my pistols to keep them in service order; and then I watched the setting sun, as he sank in all his summer splendour, and cast long golden gleams across the wooded dell, through which flowed the waters of the Meuse, when the report of shots close by gave me an alerte, and inspired me with an irresistible and unwise desire to discover the reason thereof. I ordered out my horse, thrust the pistols into my girdle, and mounting, rode leisurely along the highway for half a-mile or so, until I saw the cause of the alarm. A few troopers were galloping over an eminence, bearing each a couple of sheep across his saddle, while a cloud of smoke, streaked with flame, arose from the crumbling walls of a farmhouse, which in mere wantonness they had set on fire.
'If 'tis thus Duke Charles celebrates his temporary return to Lorraine,' thought I, 'his people had better bend their necks to Richelieu and King Louis.'
Turning my horse's head, I rode leisurely back at the same pace towards the auberge, till at a turn of the road, which was bordered by high green hedges, I came abruptly upon two cavaliers, mounted, and armed with sword and pistol. As the path was narrow, we simultaneously saluted each other, and drew up to reconnoitre; for the time, place, and politics, made us alike wary and suspicious.
'Sabre de Bois!' exclaimed a familiar voice, using that exclamation which in France is old as the Crusades, and means a cross or sword of wood; 'I think I should know that face and figure. Oho, M. Blane! we have changed guises since we met last year at Sezanne. 'Tis thou art now the abbé and I the layman. By St. Nicolas of Lorraine, but this is very droll!'
The speaker was the Prince of Vaudemout, and I heard him with mingled anger and irresolution.
'Shall I recal the advice, the threat you made me, on that day at the hotel in Sezanne?'
'You may, M. le Prince; but what was it?'