Two paces from Yvonnet, the two Scharfensteins, uncle and nephew, were making complicated calculations on their enormous fingers. They were figuring out the probable value of their morning's booty. The nephew had been fortunate enough to lay his hand upon a valuable suit of armor; and the worthy Teutons, with beaming countenances, were dividing in advance the money which they expected to receive for their rich prize.
The veterans, in a group in the centre of the tent, were playing at dice; and the players and bystanders alike were following with much interest the varying chances of the game.
A huge smoking torch fixed in the earth lighted up the pleased or disappointed faces, and cast an uncertain, flickering light upon the features of the others, with their contrasted expressions, which we have tried to describe and sketch in the half-darkness.
Gabriel raised his head, as poor Malemort uttered a more dolorous groan than usual, and said to his squire,—
"Martin-Guerre, what time is it now?"
"Monseigneur, I can't tell very accurately," Martin replied, for this stormy night has put out all the stars; "but I imagine that it is not far from six o'clock, for it has been dark more than an hour."
"The surgeon promised to come at six o'clock, did he not?"
"At six precisely, Monseigneur. See, some one raises the curtain; yes, there he is."
Vicomte d'Exmès cast his eyes upon the new arrival, and recognized him at the first glance. He had seen him but once before; but the surgeon's face was one of those which when once seen are never forgotten.
"Master Ambroise Paré!" cried Gabriel, rising.