I joined them, and fully shared their emotion as I gazed on the stately towers which had witnessed so many royal festivities, and, alas! one royal tragedy; which had sheltered Louis the Well-beloved and Francis the Great, and rung with the laughter of Diana of Poitiers and the second Henry.

The play of fancy wreathed the sombre building with a hundred memories grave and gay.

But, though the rich plain of the Loire still swelled upward as of old in gentle homage at the feet of the gallant town, the shadow of crime seemed to darken all, and dim even the glories of the royal standard which hung idly in the air.
We had heard so many reports of the fear and suspicion which reigned in the city and of the strict supervision which was exercised over all who entered--the king dreading a repetition of the day of the Barricades--that we halted at a little inn a mile short of the gate and broke up our company.

I parted from my Norman friend with mutual expressions of esteem, and from my own men, whom I had paid off in the morning, complimenting each of them with a handsome present, with a feeling of relief equally sincere.

I hoped--but the hope was not fated to be gratified--that I might never see the knaves again.
It wanted less than an hour of sunset when I rode up to the gate, a few paces in front of mademoiselle and her woman; as if I had really been the intendant for whom the horse-dealer had mistaken me.