"
"Ha!" cried Gilles de Retz, "I am with you there. There is, after all,
some harmony between our immortal parts. For my part, I would have all
of life,--husk, kernel, stalk,--aye, and the root that grows amid the
dung."
He paused a moment, looking at Laurence with the air of a connoisseur.
"Come hither, lad," he said, with a soft and friendly accent; "sit on
this seat with your back to the window. Turn your head so that the
lamp shines aright upon your face. You are not so handsome as was
reported, but that there is something wondrously taking about your
countenance, I do admit. There--sit so, and fear nothing."
Laurence sat down with the bad grace of a manly youth who is admired
for what he privately despises, and wishes himself well quit of. But,
notwithstanding this, there was something so insinuating and pleasant
about the marshal's manner that the lad almost thought he must have
dreamed the incident of the burned door and the sacrifice upon the
iron altar.
"You came hither to search for Margaret of Douglas," said the marshal,
suddenly bending forward as if to take him by surprise.
Pages:
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496