Jacques des Horloges was too wise to join in such talk, but he met some friends and it was some time before he set out again upon his journey. The two—the clockmaker and the child—left the town and rode on to Poissy, passing through the midst of the fair before they reached the gates of that place. The booths were set up in the edge of the forest under the shelter of the trees, and from branch to branch were swung ropes of flowers and evergreen, from which hung little bells that tinkled merrily with every breeze. The open grass plots were covered with dancers, arrayed in the gayest hues, like a moving bouquet of tulips, while the music was furnished by various groups of players, and was full of variety, from the loud blasts of the hautboys to the guitars which were coming into common use, having been introduced at the French court from Italy. There were, too, the shrill sweet notes of the flaïos de saus, or reed flutes, which were coupled by pairs in the orchestras and played the minor keys, some soft and even sweet, especially in the open air, in spite of the crudeness of the instruments. The scene was not only gay, but it had a certain rural charm of its own, which was not even cheapened by the itinerant tradesmen who were crying their wares by the roadside. There was a large concourse of people, for the Fête de St. Louis never failed to bring a full attendance. There was a poultry show, too, and a horse show, each drawing a large audience, and a full selection of marvels to dazzle and bewilder the country people.
Jacques des Horloges, however, was not diverted from his even course by sights which he had witnessed every year, and he rode along at a steady gait, until a strolling gypsy stopped his horse, offering to tell the clockmaker’s fortune. Michel shook his head.
“Away with you,” he said impatiently, “I have more serious work to do than to listen to your babble.”
“Have a care, master,” retorted the fortune-teller glibly; “’tis ill-luck to scorn a friendly warning, there may be trouble ahead!”
“Pah!” ejaculated the clockmaker, urging on his stout horse, “the devil take your nonsense.”
“’Tis not the time for indifference,” said the gypsy, holding up a long finger; “the king makes peace with the queen; changes come; yonder boy is not yours!”
Jacques des Horloges stirred uneasily in his saddle.
“Mère de Dieu!” he exclaimed softly, but he only urged his horse on, without looking back until he reached the gates of Poissy.
Here they put up at the first hostelry in the main street, and Jacques saw his horse safely stalled in the stable before he took his saddle-bags on his arm and set out with Péron to attend to the errand which had brought him so far. They passed through the streets out on to the road which led along the bank of the Seine. To the left, the ground rose gradually until it reached a hilly elevation, fringed by a woodland. Some sheep were grazing on the slopes, and the afternoon sun cast long shadows in the hollows. Over the tree-tops showed the gray turrets and gabled roof of a large château. The clockmaker plodded along, leading the child by the hand, and neither spoke until a turn in the road brought them around the shoulder of the hill and in full view of the house. Then Péron uttered an exclamation of pleased surprise, and Jacques des Horloges stopped involuntarily and stood looking at the scene.
“Do you like it?” he said, turning to the child.