Presently the sun became visible through the white wreathing vapour—a pale, watery-looking disc. Then a cold westerly breeze, insufficient to disperse the mist, sprang up, so that the Norman, eager to save the muscles of his men, ordered the sail to be set.
Above Villequier the windings of the river were not sufficient to necessitate windward work, so by merely trimming the sail as the course was altered the boat could pursue her onward way.
Hardly a word was spoken. The fog seemed to affect the spirits both of the mercurial Frenchmen and the more reticent Englishmen, and in silence, save for an occasional order from the steersman as the sheets required attention, the party made rapid progress with wind and tide.
"Yonder lies the Dos d'Ane," remarked Gaston, pointing to a distant hill. "Close under its shadow boats can shelter from la barre."
"I trow, master, we have had enough of this terrible bore," observed Roche. "Certes! Even now I have the taste of Seine water in my throat, in spite of a good stoup of sack."
"Not one good stoup only, gossip," corrected one of his companions.
"As thou wilt, Thomas; but I pray three, ere thou wouldst——"
Master Roche's words were interrupted by a low "hist" from the steersman.
"'Tis but the cry of a bittern," remarked Ratclyffe.
"Ma foi! If thou canst liken yonder sound to a bird's call thou hast no right to wear sword," retorted Gripwell, excitement outweighing his deference. "E'en though the wind bloweth away from us, I can make out the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants. Now, am I not right?" he continued, as a lull in the breeze enabled the Englishmen to hear the subdued clatter of a distant encounter.