“Step in, messieurs! Step in! ’Tis not a night for a dog to be out, let alone honest men! Here, Gondrin! Pierre! See after the horses! Come in, gentlemen! You are not the first to-night—come in! The horses shall be seen to.”
There was no doubting the honest tones of the man’s voice, and, thanking him, we accepted his invitation, leaving Badehorn to supervise the stabling of the horses, a task from which he returned well pleased with their lodging. Entering, we followed our host into what was once the great hall of the old château, but which was now apparently a kitchen, a dining-room, and a salon in one.
As the farmer had said, we were not the first who had sought the hospitable shelter of the abbey farm that night. In a chair next to the fire was a priest, evidently of high rank—I caught the glitter of the ring on his hand—and close to him were two or three of his following, all dark-robed and sombre.
Some distance away, somewhat in shadow, and at the extreme end of the table, where the fag-ends of supper still remained, sat another wayfarer, his head leaning on his arm, staring moodily before him. On our entrance, this man gave a quick glance at us, and then lowered his head again, so that his features were not distinguishable.
The priest took no notice of us, bending low over his breviary, but his suite returned our greetings gravely, and looked at us with interest as we took off our snow-bespattered cloaks, and approached the warmth of the fire, while a brace of brown-armed and dark-haired girls laid out some supper—black bread and cheese, warm milk, and a flagon of Rochecorbon; plain and homely fare, but none the less welcome for all that.
On entering the room I had removed the demi-mask I wore as a protection from the weather; but it was not until we reached the full light of the fire that Jean did so, and a look of surprise and astonishment came into the eyes of our host. He glanced from one to the other of us, his hands began to tremble, and so discomposed did he appear, that Jean thought it better to ask to be allowed to sup at once, and, as we took our seats, said something in an undertone to our host, to which the man answered submissively, in an equally low voice.
It was while this incident was in progress that I caught the priest’s glance, and the slightly amused, slightly mocking smile on his face. It was clear that he had followed every detail of the passage between Jean and the farmer of Larçon. But it was the man’s expression, cold, sneering, and haughty, that arrested me, and for a moment we stared at each other. Then he bowed to me as to an inferior, courteously but haughtily, the jewel flashed brightly on his finger, and he returned to his book, as if we did not exist. Yet in that one look we exchanged I felt I had met a master mind, and I had an instinctive foreboding of ill to come from that stern and malign figure.
He was tall and thin, with a receding forehead, an eagle nose, and a cruel line of red lip that contrasted strangely with the pallor of his complexion. But it was the searching light in the gray eyes, flashing beneath the thick, straight brows, that made me feel the man was reading me like an open page. And a presentiment came upon me, that here was one whose path would cross mine to my destruction. I little imagined what that crossing would mean to him, to that man whose eyes were even now fixed on St. Peter’s throne. Had Achon of Arles lived, it is not too much to say that the history of France would have been altered, and the eagle of Lorraine grasped the sceptre of my country. He possessed every quality that the Cardinal and his brother lacked. He equalled the Constable in courage and the Italian in duplicity and cunning. In a word, he was a great, bad man, such as a nation sometimes produces to its sorrow and often to its destruction.
As we took our seats at the supper table, I noticed that the stranger I had first observed had shifted his position, so that his face was from us. At first I paid little heed to this, being hungry, and a little diverted by our host’s strange bearing. He looked at me knowingly, and seemed swollen with the consciousness of possessing some great secret. We were, however, relieved of his importunities by the churchman, who summoned him to receive some instructions, and it was then that Marcilly took the opportunity to whisper:
“Do you recognize the priest?”