We might have despatched a messenger. But our servants--Gil
excepted, and he was too old to bear the journey--were ignorant
of Paris. Nor could any one of them be trusted with a mission so
delicate. We thought of Pavannes' courier indeed. But he was a
Rochellois, and a stranger to the capital. There was nothing for
it but to go ourselves.
Yet we did not determine on this adventure with light hearts, I
remember. Paris loomed big and awesome in the eyes of all of us.
The glamour of the court rather frightened than allured us. We
felt that shrinking from contact with the world which a country
life engenders, as well as that dread of seeming unlike other
people which is peculiar to youth. It was a great plunge, and a
dangerous which we meditated. And we trembled. If we had known
more--especially of the future--we should have trembled more.
But we were young, and with our fears mingled a delicious
excitement. We were going on an adventure of knight errantry in
which we might win our spurs.
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