Adjoining the picturesque little town of Romagnano, which was built on the near bank of the river, were the ruins of an old bridge, which had been destroyed by Lautrec during the late campaign, and it was close to these broken arches and piers that De Lorges had constructed the bridge of boats.
Farther down the river, about half a league off, could be seen Gattinara, a town about the same size as Romagnano. As we have intimated, the whole country was one flat fertile plain, extending almost over the whole of Lombardy to the foot of the Alps. A strong mounted guard was stationed near the bridge, and as Bayard drew near, the leader of the guard, who was no other than De Lorges, rode towards him.
“Good even, noble captain,” said De Lorges. “What think you of the bridge?”
“It will answer its purpose,” rejoined Bayard. “But I would it were destroyed.”
“That is, were you with the army on the other side of the river. So do I. We ought to have crossed tonight. Why wait till morning?”
“Ay, why?” cried Bayard, angrily. “Simply because the Admiral has so decided. He says the men are worn out, and must have repose. Methinks they could have rested at Gattinara. To-morrow may be too late.”
“Let us hope not,” said De Lorges. “I do not think the enemy can have divined purpose.”
“I think differently,” rejoined Bayard. “I believe that Bourbon is in hot pursuit of us.”
“But you have no grounds for such belief?” said De Lorges, inquiringly.
“None save the conviction that he will not let Bonnivet escape Well, if the Admiral chooses to indulge in false security, we cannot help it. For my own part, I am full of apprehension.”