At its head rode the Marquis de Bellecour, the Vicomte, and a half-dozen other gentlemen, followed by, perhaps, a dozen lacqueys.

It was a hunting party that was making its way across the village to the open country beyond.

The bridal procession crossing their path caused them to draw rein, and to wait until it should have passed--which argued a very condescending humour, for it would not have been out of keeping with their habits to have ridden headlong through it.

Their presence cast a restraint upon the peasants.

The jests were silenced, the laughter hushed, and like a flight of pigeons under the eye of the hawk, they scurried past the Seigneurie, and some of them prayed God that they might be suffered to pass indeed.
Bellecour eyed them in cold disdain, until presently Charlot and his bride were abreast of him.