There was a little silence, and he stretched out a lean hand.
"Monsieur, forget not: there is room for you in Italy; it would gladden me to see the golden cock of Orrain once more upon the field. And now go."
CHAPTER XV
MY PRISONER
We left Poitiers by the Porte de Rochereuil, as I had no mind to be shut within the angle between the Clain and the Vienne, whence escape would be a difficult matter if trouble arose. Whilst crossing the bridge my eyes fell on a rock on the opposite bank of the river which commanded the faubourg, and even held in check the old fortress of Jean de Berri, which guarded the junction of the Clain and Boivre on our left. I made a mental note of this, and years after I was to use this knowledge to some purpose when I stood by Coligny's side before Poitiers.
I had sent forward two of my men, with instructions to make arrangements for our accommodation for the night at Les Barres. I deemed it inadvisable to go on to Châtellerault, and Les Barres was a convenient halting-place, as there was no moon now, and there could be little travelling after sundown. Moreover, I wished to spare my charge as much as possible.
For these reasons we travelled at an easy pace, mademoiselle riding by herself a few yards ahead, for I confess that after a few civil words had passed between us I had taken the opportunity to fall back. This I did under pretence of giving instructions to Pierrebon, though I never spoke a word to him. Frankly, I was in a state that made me bad company, and I desired to be alone. The face of De Ganache seemed ever to be between me and Diane, and I morosely kept to myself, envying the lot of Adam, who was the only man who never had a rival, torturing myself, as is the custom with lovers, with a thousand suspicions, and cursing myself for a fool in having undertaken this task. Nevertheless, I am sure, such is the frailty of man, that were it to be all over again I would do in this matter all I had done before.
In fact, I was grasping the truth of what I had often laughed at—that there is none so skilled in making dragons out of beetles as the man who is in love and knows not if he is winning or losing.
We kept to the left bank of the Clain, taking a track that led over a sad and barren plain, once the garden of France. Except immediately around the city and the few hamlets we passed there was scarce a crop to be seen, and but for an abandoned vineyard, or here and there a solitary tree, brooding like a mourner over the dead, all was a dreary waste. There was little or no sign of life on this sullen and melancholy landscape. Occasionally we met a peasant making his way to some half-ruined hamlet, and driving before him a flock of geese with the aid of a long stick, to one end of which he had tied a plume of rags. At sight of us he, as a rule, left his birds to take care of themselves, and vanished like a rabbit into one of the ravines that cross and recross the plain in a network. And this was the King's peace in Poitou!
My troopers rode stolidly on, taking turns with the led horse, and now and again exchanging a word with each other. Pierrebon followed behind them, whistling the "Rappel d'Aunis." I kept to myself, as I have said, full of sombre thoughts, but watching mademoiselle as she rode about twenty paces or so in front of me. She never turned her head, but I observed that she was scanning the country on either side carefully.