With fifty thousand men the Mareschal Duke of Luxembourg was posted at Courtray on the Lys; while William, with twice that number, lay at Grammont, inactive, phlegmatic, and afraid to attack him; an inertness which increased the growing ill-humour of Britain against him. Without a dinner and without a sou, abandoned to solitude and dejection, Walter Fenton one evening paced slowly to and fro on the ramparts of Courtray, watching the bright sunset as it lingered long on the level scenery. A page approached, who acquainted him that Monseigneur le Mareschal required his presence in the citadel, whither he immediately repaired, and found the great Henri of Luxembourg, the youthful Dukes of Chartres and Vendome, with other chevaliers of distinction, carousing after a sumptuous repast.
As he entered, De Chartres was singing the merry old ditty of _Jean de Nivelle_, while the rest chorused.
"Jean de Nivelle has three flails; Three palfrays with long manes and tails; Three blades of a terrible brand, Which he never takes into his hand. _Ah! ouivraiment! Jean de Nivelle est bon enfant!_"
The magnificence of their attire, the happy nonchalance and graceful ease of their manner, contrasted with his own tattered and humble uniform, fallen fortune, and jaded spirit, made Walter's heart sick as he entered; but, assuming somewhat of the old air of a cavalier officer, he bowed to the noble company, and awaited in silence the commands of the Mareschal.
"Approach, Monsieur," said the handsome young Duc de Chartres. "Tête Dieu! but you look very pale! You were wounded I believe?"
"Ah, it is deuced unpleasant work this fighting and beleaguering."
"De Chartres would rather be at Chantilly," said the Duc de Vendome, laughing.
"Or at Versailles," said a Chevalier of St. Louis. "He is thinking of little Mariette Gondalaurier."
"Or St. Denis and adorable Isabeau Lagrange."
"Say Paris at once, Messieurs," said the boyish roué, smiling. "I have beauties everywhere."
"The Scottish officer will drink with us--here, boy, assist our friend to wine," said Luxembourg to his page. "'Tis only Frontiniac, Monsieur; but an hour ago it was Dutch William's, and we drink it out of pure spite."
Walter drank the fragrant wine from a massively embossed cup, and his head swam as he imbibed it, and waited to hear for what desperate duty these noble peers designed him.