“Because they belong to the Sieur D'Hymbercourt and De Comines, who are gone so far to fly their falcons, that they have forgot their supper. They who would rather look at a kite on the wing than a pheasant on the board, are of kin to the fool, and he should succeed to the stools, as a part of their movable estate.”
[Original]
“That is but a stale jest, my friend Tiel,” said the Duke; “but, fools or wise men, here come the defaulters.”
As he spoke, Comines and D'Hymbercourt entered the room, and, after having made their reverence to the two Princes, assumed in silence the seats which were left vacant for them.
“What ho! sirs,” exclaimed the Duke, addressing them, “your sport has been either very good or very bad, to lead you so far and so late. Sir Philip de Comines, you are dejected—hath D'Hymbercourt won so heavy a wager on you?—You are a philosopher, and should not grieve at bad fortune.—By Saint George D'Hymbercourt looks as sad as thou dost.—How now, sirs? Have you found no game? or have you lost your falcons? or has a witch crossed your way? or has the Wild Huntsman [the famous apparition, sometimes called le Grand Veneur. Sully gives some account of this hunting spectre. S.] met you in the forest? By my honour, you seem as if you were come to a funeral, not a festival.”
While the Duke spoke, the eyes of the company were all directed towards D'Hymbercourt and De Comines; and the embarrassment and dejection of their countenances, neither being of that class of persons to whom such expression of anxious melancholy was natural, became so remarkable, that the mirth and laughter of the company, which the rapid circulation of goblets of excellent wine had raised to a considerable height, was gradually hushed; and, without being able to assign any reason for such a change in their spirits, men spoke in whispers to each other, as on the eve of expecting some strange and important tidings.
“What means this silence, Messires?” said the Duke, elevating his voice, which was naturally harsh. “If you bring these strange looks, and this stranger silence, into festivity, we shall wish you had abode in the marshes seeking for herons, or rather for woodcocks and howlets.”
“My gracious lord,” said De Comines, “as we were about to return hither from the forest, we met the Count of Crevecoeur—”
“How!” said the Duke, “already returned from Brabant?—but he found all well there, doubtless?”