Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 3, 2025
She shunned companionship, and scarcely spoke, even to La Pommeraye. A deep and settled melancholy brooded over her soul. When her little island sank from sight on the horizon, it seemed to her that all she loved on earth was lost to her for ever.
But then, if what you say of La Pommeraye be true and my uncle is alone, and no one knows of the meeting yes, Bastienne, I am here. What is it?" She interrupted herself at the entrance of a short, thick-set woman, considerably past middle-age evidently a privileged old servant. There was no mistaking her origin. She was a peasant of Picardy, faithful, honest, good-natured, and strong as an ox.
"We have met before," said he, bowing to La Pommeraye. "Sire, this is none other than the redoubtable swordsman whose deeds have been buzzed through the court for a week to the lasting chagrin of Jules Marchand. Uncle, if you love me, you owe him a debt of gratitude. That I am not at this moment in heaven, praying for your soul, is due solely to his generosity."
La Pommeraye, outside, paced up and down, awaiting De Roberval's arrival. His hand was on his sword-hilt, and his watchful eye kept a sharp look-out on all sides; for in spite of the nobleman's parting words to him in the afternoon, he had already had but too good reason to suspect him of treachery.
He was a skilled surgeon taught by frequent experience and with help from the women soon had the wound bandaged. In the meantime Roberval had recovered from his swoon, and was rubbing his eyes with amazement at the strange turn events had taken. "How came you here?" exclaimed he to La Pommeraye.
The stoical Picard withdrew from his master's presence, but muttered to himself as he went down the long hall which led to the square: "It will go hard, but I will see that the good work is, indeed, well done." Charles de la Pommeraye was pretty well worn out by the amount of travelling he had done, and he was glad when Etienne left him, and he could throw himself on his couch to sleep.
"So I am, Monsieur," replied the Picard, with grim humour. "I am to head a band of them to take your life." La Pommeraye laughed. "And where are your fellows, since you are here to put an end to my career?" he asked. "Monsieur asks too many questions. I have not exactly come here to assassinate you, but to tell you the time, the place, and the manner in which it is to be done.
So quick was the stroke that I am afraid only a miracle could have prevented a woman from at last making a permanent impression on the heart of Charles de la Pommeraye, but I was once more to be saved from the base designs of the sex. My antagonist seized her hand from behind with a vice-like grip; and there we all stood a most interesting group of enemies. He was the first to speak.
"Mademoiselle," he said, approaching, "perhaps we may still be able to do something for your uncle. His wound may not be fatal." He bent over to assist her to rise, but she was on her feet unaided, and drew back from him with the one scornful word she had flung at him the night before, "Coward!" La Pommeraye stooped over the lifeless figure at his feet.
His skill and strength made me dread meeting him; and his departure left me the first swordsman in France; for despite De Roberval's reputation, he was of an old school, and easy to defeat. But now it seems I am but a poor second. But let us to Paris, and find out who this dashing cavalier may be." La Pommeraye continued his journey, and loitered but little on the way till Picardy was reached.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking