The cold shadow of the Cardinal, of
Paris, of the scaffold fell on them, and chilled them. As the
mountains which they had known all their lives sank and faded
behind us, and we entered on the wide, low valley of the Garonne,
their hopes sank and faded also--sank to the dead level of
despair. Surrounded by guards, a mark for curious glances, with
pride for a companion, M. de Cocheforet could have borne himself
bravely; doubtless would bear himself bravely still when the end
came. But almost alone, moving forward through the grey evening
to a prison, with so many measured days before him, and nothing
to exhilarate or anger--in this condition it was little wonder if
he felt, and betrayed that he felt, the blood run slow in his
veins; if he thought more of the weeping wife and ruined home
which he had left behind him than of the cause in which he had
spent himself.
But God knows, they had no monopoly of gloom. I felt almost as
sad myself. Long before sunset the flush of triumph, the heat of
battle, which had warmed my heart at noon, were gone, giving
place to a chill dissatisfaction, a nausea, a despondency such as
I have known follow a long night at the tables.
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