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    well meant,
    were still more disagreeable than to Quentin, who, as he rode on,
    muttered to himself, "Cold blooded, insolent, overweening coxcomb!
    -- Would that the next Scottish Archer who has his harquebuss
    pointed at thee, may not let thee off so easily as I did!"

    In the evening they reached the town of Charleroi, on the Sambre,
    where the Count of Crevecoeur had determined to leave the Countess
    Isabelle, whom the terror and fatigue of yesterday, joined to a
    flight of fifty miles since morning, and the various distressing
    sensations by which it was accompanied, had made incapable of
    travelling farther with safety to her health. The Count consigned
    her, in a state of great exhaustion, to the care of the Abbess of
    the Cistercian convent in Charleroi, a noble lady, to whom both
    the families of Crevecoeur and Croye were related, and in whose
    prudence and kindness he could repose confidence.

    Crevecoeur himself only stopped to recommend the utmost caution to
    the governor of a small Burgundian garrison who occupied the place,
    and required him also to mount a guard of honour upon the convent
    during the residence of the Countess Isabelle of Croye -- ostensibly
    to secure her safety, but perhaps secretly to prevent her attempting
    to escape. The Count only assigned as a cause for the garrison's
    being vigilant, some vague rumours which he had heard of disturbances
    in the Bishopric of Liege. But he was determined himself to be the
    first who should carry the formidable news of the insurrection and
    the murder of the Bishop, in all their horrible reality, to Duke
    Charles, and for that purpose, having procured fresh horses for
    himself and suite, he mounted with the resolution of continuing
    his journey to Peronne without stopping for repose, and, informing
    Quentin Durward that he must attend him, he made, at the same
    time, a mock apology for parting fair company, but hoped that to
    so devoted a squire of dames a night's journey by moonshine would
    be more agreeable than supinely to yield himself to slumber like
    an ordinary mortal.

    Quentin, already sufficiently afflicted by finding that he was
    to be parted from Isabelle, longed to answer this taunt with an
    indignant defiance, but aware that the Count would only laugh at his
    anger, and despise his challenge, he resolved to wait some future
    time, when he might have an opportunity of obtaining some amends
    from this proud lord, who, though for very different reasons,
    had become nearly as odious to him as the Wild Boar of Ardennes
    himself. He therefore assented to Crevecoeur's proposal, as to what
    he had no choice of declining, and they pursued in company, and
    with all the despatch they could exert, the road between Charleroi
    and Peronne.



    CHAPTER XXV: THE UNBIDDEN GUEST

    No human quality is so well wove
    In warp and woof, but there 's some flaw in it:
    I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur,
    A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy
    Had wellnigh been ashamed on't. For your crafty,
    Your worldly wise man, he, above the rest,
    Weaves his own snares so fine, he 's often caught in them.

    OLD PLAY


    Quentin, during the earlier part of the night journey, had to
    combat with that bitter heartache which is felt when youth parts,
    and probably forever, with her he loves. As, pressed by the urgency
    of the moment, and the impatience of Crevecoeur, they hasted on
    through the rich lowlands of Hainault, under the benign guidance
    of a rich and lustrous harvest moon, she shed her yellow influence
    over rich and deep pastures, woodland, and cornfields, from which
    the husbandmen were using her light to withdraw the grain, such
    was the industry of the Flemings, even at that period, she shone on
    broad, level, and fructifying rivers, where glided the white sail
    in the service of commerce, uninterrupted by rock and torrent,
    beside lively quiet villages, whose external decency and cleanliness
    expressed the ease and comfort of the inhabitants, -- she gleamed
    upon the feudal castle of many a Baron and Knight, with its deep
    moat, battlemented court, and high belfry -- for the chivalry of
    Hainault was renowned among the nobles of Europe -- and her light
    displayed at a distance, in its broad beam, the gigantic towers of
    more than one lofty minster.

    Yet all this fair variety, however, differing from the waste and
    wilderness of his own land, interrupted not the course of Quentin's
    regrets and sorrows. He had left his heart behind him when he
    departed from Charleroi, and the only reflection which the farther
    journey inspired was that every step was carrying him farther from
    Isabelle. His imagination was taxed to recall every word she had
    spoken, every look she had directed towards him, and, as happens
    frequently in such cases, the impression made upon his imagination
    by the recollection of these particulars, was even stronger than
    the realities themselves had excited.

    At length, after the cold hour of midnight was past, in spite
    alike of love and of sorrow, the extreme fatigue which Quentin
    had undergone the two preceding days began to have an effect on
    him, which his habits of exercise of every kind, and his singular
    alertness and activity of character, as well as the painful nature
    of the reflections which occupied his thoughts, had hitherto
    prevented his experiencing. The ideas of his mind began to be
    so little corrected by the exertions of his senses, worn out and
    deadened as the latter now were by extremity of fatigue, that the
    visions which the former drew superseded or perverted the information
    conveyed by the blunted organs of seeing and hearing, and Durward
    was only sensible that he was awake, by the exertions which, sensible
    of the peril of his situation, he occasionally made to resist
    falling into a deep and dead sleep. Every now and then, strong
    consciousness of the risk of falling from or with his horse roused
    him to exertion and animation, but ere long his eyes again were
    dimmed by confused shades of all sorts of mingled colours, the
    moonlight landscape swam before them, and he was so much overcome
    with fatigue, that the Count of Crevecoeur, observing his condition,
    was at length compelled to order two of his attendants, one to
    each rein of Durward's bridle, in order to prevent the risk of his
    falling from his horse.

    When at length they reached the town of Landrecy, the Count, in
    compassion to the youth, who had now been in a great measure without
    sleep for three nights, allowed himself and his retinue a halt of
    four hours, for rest and refreshment. Deep and sound were Quentin's
    slumbers, until they were broken by the sound of the Count's trumpet, and
    the cry of his Fouriers [subordinate officers who secure quarters
    for the army while manoeuvring] and harbingers, "Debout! debout!
    Ha! Messires, en route, en route! [arise, let us set out!]"

    Yet, unwelcomely early as the tones came, they awaked him
    a different being in strength and spirits from what he had fallen
    asleep. Confidence in himself and his fortunes returned with his
    reviving spirits, and with the rising sun. He thought of his love
    no longer as a desperate and fantastic dream, but as a high and
    invigorating principle, to be cherished in his bosom, although he
    might never purpose to himself, under all the difficulties by which
    he was beset, to bring it to any prosperous issue.

    "The pilot," he reflected, "steers his bark by the polar star,
    although he never expects to become possessor of it, and the
    thoughts of Isabelle of Croye shall make me a worthy man at arms,
    though I may never see her more. When she hears that a Scottish
    soldier named Quentin Durward distinguished himself in a well fought
    field, or left his body on the breach of a disputed fortress, she
    will remember the companion of her journey, as one who did all
    in his power to avert the snares and misfortunes which beset it,
    and perhaps will honour his memory with a tear, his coffin with a
    garland."

    In this manly mood of bearing his misfortune, Quentin felt himself
    more able to receive and reply to the jests of the Count of Crevecoeur,
    who passed several on his alleged effeminacy and incapacity of
    undergoing fatigue. The young Scot accommodated himself so good
    humouredly to the Count's raillery, and replied at once so happily
    and so respectfully, that the change of his tone and manner made
    obviously a more favourable impression on the Count than he had
    entertained from his prisoner's conduct during the preceding evening,
    when, rendered irritable by the feelings of his situation, he was
    alternately moodily silent or fiercely argumentative. The veteran
    soldier began at length to take notice of his young companion as
    a pretty fellow, of whom something might be made, and more than
    hinted to him that would he but resign his situation in the Archer
    Guard of France, he would undertake to have him enrolled in the
    household of the Duke of Burgundy in an honourable condition, and
    would himself take care of his advancement. And although Quentin,
    with suitable expressions of gratitude, declined this favour at
    present, until he should find out how far he had to complain of
    his original patron, King Louis, he, nevertheless, continued to
    remain on good terms with the Count of Crevecoeur, and, while his
    enthusiastic mode of thinking, and his foreign and idiomatical
    manner of expressing himself, often excited a smile on the grave
    cheek of the Count, that smile had lost all that it had of sarcastic
    and bitter, and did not exceed the limits of good humour and good
    manners.

    Thus travelling on with much more harmony than on the preceding
    day, the little party came at last within two miles of the famous
    and strong town of Peronne, near which the Duke of Burgundy's army
    lay encamped, ready, as was supposed, to invade France, and, in
    opposition to which, Louis XI had himself assembled a strong force
    near Saint Maxence, for the purpose of bringing to reason his over
    powerful vassal.

    Perrone, situated upon a deep river, in a flat country, and surrounded
    by strong bulwarks and profound moats, was accounted in ancient as
    in modern times, one of the strongest fortresses in France. [Indeed,
    though lying on an exposed and warlike frontier, it was never taken
    by an enemy, but preserved the proud name of Peronne la Pucelle,
    until the Duke of Wellington, a great destroyer of that sort of
    reputation, took the place in the memorable advance upon Paris in
    1815. S.] The Count of Crevecoeur, his retinue, and his prisoner,
    were approaching the fortress about the third hour after noon, when
    riding through the pleasant glades of a large forest, which then
    covered the approach to the town on the east side, they were met by
    two men of rank, as appeared from the number of their attendants,
    dressed in the habits worn in time of peace, and who, to judge from
    the falcons which they carried on their wrists, and the number of
    spaniels and greyhounds led by their followers, were engaged in
    the amusement of hawking. But on perceiving Crevecoeur, with whose
    appearance and liveries they were sufficiently intimate, they quitted
    the search which they were making for a heron along the banks of
    a long canal, and came galloping towards him.

    "News, news, Count of Crevecoeur," they cried both together, "will
    you give news, or take news? or will you barter fairly?"

    "I would barter fairly, Messires," said Crevecoeur, after saluting
    them courteously, "did I conceive you had any news of importance
    sufficient to make an equivalent for mine."

    The two sportsmen smiled on each other, and the elder of the two,
    a fine baronial figure, with a dark countenance, marked with that
    sort of sadness which some physiognomists ascribe to a melancholy
    temperament, and some, as the Italian statuary augured of the visage
    of Charles I, consider as predicting an unhappy death, turning to
    his companion, said, "Crevecoeur has been in Brabant, the country
    of commerce, and he has learned all its artifices -- he will be
    too hard for us if we drive a bargain."

    "Messires," said Crevecoeur, "the Duke ought in justice to have
    the first of my wares, as the Seigneur takes his toll before open
    market begins. But tell me, are your news of a sad or a pleasant
    complexion?"

    The person whom he particularly addressed was a lively looking man,
    with an eye of great vivacity, which was corrected by an expression
    of reflection and gravity about the mouth and upper lip -- the whole
    physiognomy marking a man who saw and judged rapidly, but was sage
    and slow in forming resolutions or in expressing opinions. This
    was the famous Knight of Hainault, son of Collara, or Nicolas de
    l'Elite, known in history, and amongst historians, by the venerable
    name of Philip de Comines, at this time close to the person of
    Duke Charles the Bold, and one of his most esteemed counsellors.
    He answered Crevecoeur's question concerning the complexion of the
    news of which he and his companion, the Baron D'Hymbercourt, were
    the depositaries.

    [Philip de Comines was described in the former editions of this
    work as a little man, fitted rather for counsel than action. This
    was a description made at a venture, to vary the military portraits
    with which the age and work abound. Sleidan the historian, upon
    the authority of Matthieu d'Arves, who knew Philip de Comines, and
    had served in his household, says he was a man of tall stature,
    and a noble presence. The learned Monsieur Petitot . . . intimates
    that Philip de Comines made a figure at the games of chivalry
    and pageants exhibited on the wedding of Charles of Burgundy with
    Margaret of England in 1468. . . . He is the first named, however,
    of a gallant band of assailants, knights and noblemen, to the
    number of twenty, who, with the Prince of Orange as their leader,
    encountered, in a general tourney, with a party of the same number
    under the profligate Adolf of Cleves, who acted as challenger, by
    the romantic title of Arbre d'or. The encounter, though with arms
    of courtesy, was very fierce, and separated by main force, not
    without difficulty. Philip de Comines has, therefore, a title to
    be accounted tam Martre quam Mercurio. . . S.]

    [D'Hymbercourt, or Imbercourt, was put to death by the inhabitants
    of Ghent, with the Chancellor of Burgundy, in the year 1477. Mary
    of Burgundy, daughter of Charles the Bold, appeared in mourning in
    the marketplace, and with tears besought the life of her servants
    from her insurgent subjects, but in vain. S.]

    "They were," he said, "like the colours of the rainbow, various
    in hue, as they might be viewed from different points, and placed
    against the black cloud or the fair sky. -- Such a rainbow was
    never seen in France or Flanders, since that of Noah's ark."

    "My tidings," replied Crevecoeur, "are altogether like the comet,
    gloomy, wild, and terrible in themselves,

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