And without word of complaint or backward glance, the lad followed the
great lord to the chamber, into which so many had gone before him of
the young and beautiful of the earth, and whence so few had come out
alive.
As he passed the threshold, Laurence put into his mouth the elastic
pellet which had been given him by Blaise Renouf, the choir-master's
son.
The marshal threw himself upon a chair, reclining with a wearied air
upon the hands which were clasped behind his head. In the action of
throwing himself back one could see that Gilles de Retz was a young
and not an old man, though ordinarily his vitality had been worn to
the quick, and both in appearance and movement he was already
prematurely aged.
"What is your name?"
The question came with military directness from the lips of the
marshal of France.
"Laurence MacKim," said the lad, with equal directness.
"For what purpose did you come to the Castle of Machecoul?"
"I came," said Laurence, coolly, "to take service with you, my lord.
And because I was tired of monk rule, and getting only the husks of
life, tired too of sitting dumb and watching others eat the kernel.
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