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,