The house itself was large and vast, having innumerable windows giving on to a large, open, bare place in front of it, while the great porte cochère had a lock which looked as though it would resist an attack either of battering rams or gunpowder if brought against it. But the blinds, or shutters, were all closed; the great door itself looked as though it had not been opened for a century; the knocker—a Christ upon the cross!—as though it had not been raised for as long a time.
"Phélypeaux," muttered St. Georges to himself. "Phélypeaux! I know the name; what do I know of him? Let me think. Ha! I have it. A soldier like myself. Also another, a brother, a priest, Bishop of Lodève—which is my host, I wonder? For choice the soldier, if all is true of the bishop that is told. Mon enfant," turning to the urchin, "is the marquis soldier or divine?"
The boy laughed, then said:
"Divine, monsieur. But en retraite. Oh! avez ça—they say droll things. Only I am young—I do not know." Whereon he grinned. Then he exclaimed: "Voilà! the door is opening."
It was, in truth, or rather a wicket in the door large enough to admit a man who should stoop, or the urchin by the side of St. Georges; but certainly by no means large enough to admit of the passage of his horse if that was also to be entertained for the night.
At that wicket appeared a face, wine-stained and blotchy, but not so good-humoured-looking as that of the watchman at the southern gate. Instead, a scowling face, as of a man on whom good liquor had no improving effect, but, rather, had soured and embittered him.
"What want you?" he asked, staring out moodily at the soldier before him and at his horse, and observing the great sword, hat, and cloak of the former with—beneath the latter—its burden; and also the military trappings of the steed. "What want you?"
"An audience of the marquis. By order of the king. Also food and lodging by the same authority. Ma foi! if I had my way I should not demand it. There is a good auberge over there to all appearances," nodding his head toward the white-walled inn on the other side of the place, before which hung a bush and on which was painted the whole length of the house: "L'Ours de Bourgogne. Logement à pied et à cheval." "Doubtless I could be well accommodated."
"Take your horse there, at any rate," said the sour-faced man; "there is no accommodation for it. Then come back. We will see later about you." And turning to the boy he cried, gesticulating with his hands: "Va t'en. Be off!"
The lad did not wait to be bidden a second time to depart, but scampered across the open place, while St. Georges, regarding the morose-looking man in front of him, said: "My friend, neither your courtesy nor your hospitality is of the best. Does your master bid you treat all who come to visit him in this manner?"