To Mathilde he bowed
gravely, and with a kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow
again to Desiree. They hardly heeded him, but with colourless faces
turned towards the staff riding behind him.
Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the
features had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither
Charles nor de Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them
bowed, as their leader had done, to the two girls.
"That is Captain de Villars," said Mathilde, "and the other I do not
know. Nor that tall man who is bowing now. Who are they?"
Desiree did not answer. None of these men was Charles.
Unconsciously holding her two mittened hands at her throat, she
searched each face.
They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. Many
of them were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish
Charles or de Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Desiree
was not conscious of the crowd around her. She heard none of the
muttered remarks. All her soul was in her eyes.
"Is that all?" she said at length--as the others had said at the
entrance to the town.
She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face
was like marble.
At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grunes
Thor, they turned and walked home in silence.
CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO.
Distinct with footprints yet
Of many a mighty marcher gone that way.
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