The Company of the Bleeding Heart

Suddenly Madame St. Lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in great
astonishment that she knew them.

"Why, there is Father Boucher, the Cure of St. Benoist!" she said, "and
Father Pezelay of St. Magloire. And there is another I know, though I
cannot remember his name! They are preachers from Paris! That is who
they are! But what can they be doing here? Is it a pilgrimage, think
you?"

"Ay, a pilgrimage of Blood!" Count Hannibal answered between his teeth.
And, turning to him to learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyes
which portended a storm. Before she could ask a question, however, the
gloomy company, which had first appeared in the distance, moving, an inky
blot, through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had drawn near, and
was almost abreast of them. Stepping from her side, he raised his hand
and arrested the march.

"Who is master here?" he asked haughtily.

"I am the leader," answered a stout pompous Churchman, whose small
malevolent eyes belied the sallow fatuity of his face. "I, M. de
Tavannes, by your leave."

"And you, by your leave," Tavannes sneered, "are--"

"Archdeacon and Vicar of the Bishop of Angers and Prior of the Lesser
Brethren of St. Germain, M. le Comte. Visitor also of the Diocese of
Angers," the dignitary continued, puffing out his cheeks, "and Chaplain
to the Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, whose unworthy brother I am."

"A handsome glove, and well embroidered!" Tavannes retorted in a tone of
disdain. "The hand I see yonder!" He pointed to the lean parchment mask
of Father Pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, but held his peace under
the sneer. "You are bound for Angers?" Count Hannibal continued. "For
what purpose, Sir Prior?"