Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour
That ballad-makers cannot be able to express it.
—A WINTER'S TALE V. 2.
It was about an hour later that a hired coach brought three English gentlemen to the small inn at St. Denis.
M. Blond was much perturbed. He was not accustomed to foreigners at any time and he held the English theoretically in abhorrence, and now here were four of these milors actually under his roof at one and the same time.
The three who had last arrived in the coach from Paris carried matters off in a very high-handed fashion and seemed ready to throw money about in a manner which was highly satisfactory to the bedraggled and seedy married couple who—besides the landlord and his spouse—formed the sum total of the personnel at the Sign of "Three Archangels" in St. Denis.
Sir John Ayloffe had assumed the leadership of the small party. He gave his own name to the landlord, and added that he and his two friends had come to pay their respects to my lord of Stowmaries, but lately arrived with his young bride.
Now can you wonder at good M. Blond's perturbation? The incidents which had crowded in at the Sign of the "Three Archangels" in the past half hour were enough to furnish food for gossip for many a long evening to come. In point of fact M. and Mme. Blond had just started talking the whole sequence of events over from the beginning when the coach arrived with the three English milors, nor had the worthy couple had any chance of comparing impressions on these same mysterious events.
Firstly there had been the extraordinary arrival of the bride and bridegroom, who of a truth had been expected, since relays for the next day's journey had been sent to the "Three Archangels" the day before, but they certainly had not been expected under such amazing circumstances, the English milor's horse covered with lather, and the bride in her wedding gown all crumpled and soiled, clinging to her newly-wedded husband in front of his saddle, and in a vastly uncomfortable position.
This astonishing arrival of a bride and bridegroom who were reputed to be passing wealthy had of course vastly upset mine good host and his amiable wife. But then English milors were known to be eccentric, in fact most folk who had travelled in the fog-ridden country vowed that all the people there were more or less mad. 'Twas but lately that they had cut off the head of their king and set up a low-born soldier to rule them. No wonder that King Louis—whom le bon Dieu preserve!—was greatly angered with these English, and only forgave them when they returned to their senses and once more acknowledged the authority of him who was their king by right divine.
Worthy Monsieur Blond had explained all these matters to his buxom wife in an off-hand yet comprehensive manner, the while the latter made haste to hurry on the preparations for supper, for the pretty bride and the English milor—deeply in love with one another though they were, as any one who looked could see—had shown a very sensible and laudable desire to have some of Mme. Blond's excellent croûte-au-pot to warm the cockles of their young hearts.
The second incident on this eventful evening was of minor importance, and tended greatly to minimise the eccentricity of that romantic arrival. The coach which should have brought the bridal pair to the "Three Archangels" did come in due time—even whilst Mme. Blond was preparing her bit of fricandeau garnished with fresh winter cabbage, which was to be the second course at the bridal supper.
The thoughtful mother of the love-sick bride had had the good sense to send her daughter's effects along, and all recollection of the curious arrival on horseback was forgotten before the prosy advent of boxes and bundles of clothes.
Mme. Blond, moreover, became fully satisfied that everything was right as right could be, when she went upstairs to announce the arrival of the coach. The bride's pretty face was as pink as the eglantine in June, and her eyes brighter than the full moon outside, whilst milor—ah, well, Mme. Blond had seen many a man in love in her day, Blond himself had not been backward when he was courting her—but never, never, had she seen a man so gloating on the sight of his young wife, as that eccentric mad milor had done, the while the pretty dear was prosily asking for supper.
All then had been for the best at nine of the clock that evening, but mark ye, what happened after that. Less than ten minutes later a rider—obviously half exhausted from a long and wearying journey—drew rein outside the "Three Archangels." M. Blond who more than once had been in Paris, had no difficulty in recognising in the belated traveller Master Legros, tailor in chief to His Majesty the King, and the father of the pretty bride upstairs.
Master Legros undoubtedly did not look like himself, though he did try to assume a jaunty air as he asked to be shown the room wherein his daughter and milor would presently be supping.
It seemed a fairly simple incident at the time, this late arrival here of the bride's father, though Mme. Blond in thinking over the matter afterwards distinctly remembered that the fact did strike her as odd. What should good M. Legros be doing at St. Denis at this tardy hour, when most good citizens should be in bed, and when he had given his paternal blessing to the young couple fully four hours ago?
"Milor's best suit of clothes had not been finished in time for the departure, and Maitre Legros brought it along himself," suggested M. Blond placidly.
But he scratched his dark poll while he made this suggestion knowing it to be nonsense.
Mme. Blond's premonitions proved to be correct. Half an hour elapsed, the while she and Blond took turns on the upstairs landing to try and hear something of what was going on inside that room, wherein awhile ago the turtle doves had been cooing so prettily. The croûte-au-pot had been ready ages ago but no one had asked for it. No sound penetrated through the heavy oaken doors; only once had Mme. Blond heard a voice raised in what seemed most terrible anger. She then fled incontinently back to her kitchen.
A quarter of an hour later M. Legros gave orders that the coach which had brought his daughter's effects an hour previously, be got ready at once, and that those horses be put to it that had been sent down the day before with a view to the continuance of the journey to Havre. He gave no explanation, of course, nor answered any of the discreet questions put to him by Mme. Blond. He tried to swallow some hot soup, but gave up the attempt after the third spoonful; he looked as white as a sheet, and trembled like a poplar leaf in the breeze. Presently the young bride came down the stairs. She still wore her wedding gown under her thick dark cloak. Mme. Blond noticed how crumpled it looked and that a great piece of the beautiful lace was torn off.
But she wore her hood closely wrapped round her head, so neither Monsieur nor Madame could see anything of her face; nor did she speak any words, save a short "Thank you!" to Mme. Blond, and this she said in a curious, husky voice as if her throat were choked.
Maitre Legros paid lavishly for everything. The bride's boxes and bundles were once more stowed away in the boot of the coach; then she and her father stepped into the vehicle, the postillion cracked his whip, there was a scraping of iron hoofs on the rough paving stones, a clanking of chains, a shout or two and the lumbering coach turned out toward the highroad and was quickly lost to sight in the gloom.
After that nothing!
Not a sound came from the room where the English milor had remained alone. Mme. Blond at her wits' ends what to do or how to interpret the remarkable series of incidents which had occurred beneath her roof, had thought of knocking at milor's door and asking him if he would have some supper.
Her mind—which as her good man was wont to say—was ever inclined to romance, had seen horrible visions of a bleeding corpse lying prone upon the parlour floor. Suicide must have followed this forcible abduction by an infuriated father, of the ardently worshipped bride.
Great was her astonishment, perhaps also her disappointment, when in answer to a peremptory "Come in" she went into the room and saw milor standing there by the open window looking out upon the moonlit landscape for all the world as if nothing had happened.
"There he was," she explained somewhat irately to her man, for she felt almost as if she had been cheated out of the most thrilling chapter of her romance, "dressed in his beautiful bridal clothes, with arms folded across his chest, and not a hair on his head the least bit ruffled. Ah! these English! they have no heart. I thought to find him either with a sword thrust through his heart, else a man mad and raving with grief. Holy Virgin! Had my father taken me away from thee, my Blond, on the very night of our wedding day, wouldst thou not have been crazy with rage, even if thou hadst not actually committed suicide? There's heart for thee! There's love! But not in these English! And wilt believe me that when I said something to milor about supper, he did not even curse me, but said quite quietly that he had no hunger."
Well now! does not all that give furiously to think?
Milor had no hunger, the bride had gone and the supper was ready. What could Mme. Blond do better than to dish up the croûte-au-pot and the fricandeau with the winter cabbage and to serve it to her man?
Monsieur Blond took off his heavy boots and donned a pair of cloth slippers, he covered his dark hair with a warmly-fitting cap and drew the most comfortable chair to the table, preparatory to enjoying a supper fit for an English milor.
But he was not destined to enjoy more than a preliminary sniff at the succulent croûte-au-pot. Mme. Blond had been very talkative and the dishing-up process consequently slow, and at the very moment when good M. Blond was conveying the first spoonful of soup to his mouth there was a loud noise of wheels grating against the slipper, the cracking of a whip and a good deal of shouting; all of which were unmistakable signs that more mysterious travellers had chosen this eventful night for their arrival at the "Three Archangels.”