“It is worth trying,” I began; but now St. Cyergue stepped in to rescue us from our difficulty, and very good-naturedly offered to lend us two horses of his own, adding at the same time that they were gifts to him from the Duke of Guise.
And hardly waiting for our acceptance, he bade the landlord fetch them at once from his house. I confess, however, that until the beasts actually appeared, I had some small doubts of my own of their existence. As to their being a present from Guise, that was of a piece with the tales of his other adventures, the conceit of the man being such, that he surrounded every moment of his life with imaginary exploits, which he fully believed he had himself performed. Nevertheless his good nature was so great that he would have divided his last livre with a total stranger, had he been asked, and it was in this way that he had been wheedled out of the fine estate of Chenonceaux by Madame La Grande Seneschale, whose avarice was as great as her effrontery. We had, of course, no intention of profiting by his easy disposition, and knowing he was in straits, and being unwilling to borrow his nags, we prevailed upon him to sell them to us for a hundred crowns apiece, which, after some demure, that the price we offered was too great, our friend finally accepted. We would still have to take one of our own horses with his two, but Badehorn rode a light weight, and we had but a bare twenty leagues before us, as the crow flies, to reach Orleans. It was now past midday, so, leaving the remaining two of our beasts with St. Cyergue, we mounted and prepared to set out, having hopes to reach Nanteuil by evening, where we could rest the horses and ourselves in the house of M. de Villequier.
Wishing the Baron good-by and a speedy termination of his temporary exile, and bearing from him a number of confused messages to the greatest personages in France, which we promised faithfully to deliver, we rode out of the crowded courtyard of the Green Man into the little square of Chenonceaux, at the same moment that M. de Rabutin, the Captain of the Castle, who was taking an airing on foot, with a half-dozen of his friends, entered it at the other end.
CHAPTER IX
HOW PONTHIEU CARRIED THE ADMIRAL’S LETTER
It was market day, as I have said, and the little square was full to overflow with a chaffering, haggling crowd, that pressed round the shelter of the shops, and squeezed, pushed, and shouted about the stalls and booths erected in the open, on the rough and still sleet-covered cobble-stones of the uneven pavement. We made our way slowly through the heaving mass of red-faced and brown-handed country folk, all talking at the same time, and in the same breath retailing some gossip of the hamlet side, and holding fast to a deal, or throwing in a prayer to St. Jean of Bléré, as they beat down a price.
We rode past pigs, cattle, and sheep, booths full of leather work from Château Renault, rough pottery from Tours and the Sologne, woollen material from Amboise, iron and copper ware, and cheap haberdashery from Blois and Orleans. There were stalls where chestnuts were roasting, and a warm wheat cake, a handful of hot chestnuts, and a draught of fresh milk were to be had for a brown piece. We were detained for a moment by an altercation between some soldiers of the garrison and a sutler from Montrichard, who had tried to palm off on them a skin of white Joué as a true Cote d’Or, and but escaped this to fall under the eye of a mad friar, who had climbed on to a cart laden with rye, or buckwheat flour, and from that elevation denounced the vengeance of heaven on the sins of Chenonceaux. His glance fell on us, and we at once became subjects for his invective. We, of course, took no notice, and pushed on, to find, this time, that we were completely hemmed in by a crowd that rushed to form a ring round a juggler, who prepared to show his wonders, while his companion, a black-eyed, dark-browed, and comely Arlesienne, beat a tambour, as she sang the shepherd’s song of her country to the morning star, “La Belle Maguelonne,” and coppers flew thick and fast. I thought that we had shown sufficient consideration to these canaille in not riding some of them down ere this, and was about to vent my impatience, when I was checked by Marcilly.
“Mon ami!” he said; “let them be—these are the bread-winners of France.”
I knew he was right, and, feeling the reproof, reined back from him. We were, however, relieved from our difficulty by M. de Rabutin and his friends, who, using their canes freely for their own passage, soon caused the crowd to surge back, and opened a way for us.
We rode forward, and would have passed de Rabutin and his companions, but, perhaps a little excited, they stood before our horses, still flourishing their canes and wearing a threatening aspect, until Marcilly called out:
“Have a care, de Rabutin! Do you not know us?”