Count Hannibal

Chapter 33

THE AMBUSH.

The start they made at daybreak was gloomy and ill-omened, through one of

those white mists which are blown from the Atlantic over the flat lands

of Western Poitou. The horses, looming gigantic through the fog, winced

as the cold harness was girded on them. The men hurried to and fro with

saddles on their heads, and stumbled over other saddles, and swore

savagely. The women turned mutinous and would not rise; or, being

dragged up by force, shrieked wild, unfitting words, as they were driven

to the horses. The Countess looked on and listened, and shuddered,

waiting for Carlat to set her on her horse. She had gone during the last

three weeks through much that was dreary, much that was hopeless; but the

chill discomfort of this forced start, with tired horses and wailin