"You speak of the siege of Leith," said a tall, raw-boned man, with
thick mustaches turned up with a military twist, a broad buff belt, a
long rapier, and other outward symbols of the honoured profession,
which lives by killing other people--"you talk of the siege of Leith,
and I have seen the place--a pretty kind of a hamlet it is, with a
plain wall, or rampart, and a pigeon-house or so of a tower at every
angle. Uds daggers and scabbards, if a leaguer of our days had been
twenty-four hours, not to say so many months, before it, without
carrying the place and all its cocklofts, one after another, by pure
storm, they would have deserved no better grace than the Provost-
Marshal gives when his noose is reeved."
"Saar," said the Chevalier, "Monsieur le Capitaine, I vas not at the
siege of the petit Leyth, and I know not what you say about the
cockloft; but I will say for Monseigneur de Strozzi, that he
understood the grande guerre, and was grand capitaine--plus grand--
that is more great, it may be, than some of the capitaines of
Angleterre, who do speak very loud--tenez, Monsieur, car c'est a
vous!"
"O Monsieur." answered the swordsman, "we know the Frenchman will
fight well behind his barrier of stone, or when he is armed with back,
breast, and pot."
"Pot!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "what do you mean by pot--do you mean
to insult me among my noble guests? Saar, I have done my duty as a
pauvre gentilhomme under the Grand Henri Quatre, both at Courtrai and
Yvry, and, ventre saint gris! we had neither pot nor marmite, but did
always charge in our shirt.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269