"
"Heavens and earth, monseigneur! What? disguise myself as a Leaguer!
Excuse me, I will obey you; but I would rather be hanged."
The count smiled; then to efface that smile, which contrasted with the
expression of his face, he answered roughly:--
"Choose the strongest horse there is in the stable and follow me. We
shall ride like balls shot from an arquebuse. Be ready when I am
ready. I will ring to let you know."
Bertrand bowed in silence and went away; but when he had gone a few
steps he said to himself, as he listened to the howling of the
storm:--
"All the devils are abroad, jarnidieu! I'd have been surprised to see
this one stay quietly in his bed. We took Saint-Lo in just such a
tempest as this."
The count kept in his room a disguise which often served him in his
campaign stratagems. Putting on the shabby buff-coat that looked as
thought it might belong to one of the poor horse-soldiers whose
pittance was so seldom paid by Henri IV., he returned to the room
where his wife was moaning.
"Try to suffer patiently," he said to her.
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