Page:Harris Dickson--The black wolf's breed.djvu/203

Rh butcher upon his morning rounds detailed the most delightful and impossible gossip to his customers.

"Pierre, my son, the valet, who is in the confidence of the Duke of Gesvres, heard His Grace say with his own lips"—and so the wine-room stories flew, gathering strength and falsehood as they went. But the story of to-day gave the lie to that of yesterday, and no man knew the truth.

War with Spain filled every mouth, yet none had a why or a wherefore. The King said "war," and all his nation echoed. No, not all. Many there were who gave voice to the cry with hearts that rebelled, with clear brains questioning the right of one man to plunge a whole people into renewed slaughter. These held their peace for the sake of their necks. "I am the State," Louis had declared, and such ideas were not for the canaille to have; they must curb their tongues to cheat the gibbet. Being a soldier and under orders, I had no right to form opinions, but, sobered in some degree by these reflections, paced about until it came time to take horse and away.

"In the name of the wandering Ulysses, Placide, where have you been these two good hours?" said Jerome, suddenly coming toward me.

"Has it been so long? I tired of the crowd and strolled alone through the gardens."

His quick eye caught sight of the handkerchief tucked snugly in my belt.

"A lady? And so soon?" he bantered me.

My tell-tale flush permitted no denial, nor did I care