The horsemen, stern, bearded Switzers for the most part, who eyed the rabble about them with grim disdain, and were by no means chary of their blows, were all in his colours and armed to the teeth.

The order and discipline were of his making: the revenge of his seeking.

A grasp as of steel had settled upon our friend, and I felt that his last chance was gone.

Louis de Pavannes might as well be lying on his threshold with his dead servant by his side, as be in hiding within that ring of ordered swords.
It was with despairing eyes we looked at the old wooden houses.

They seemed to be bowing themselves towards us, their upper stories projected so far, they were so decrepit.