was purple, and large purple veins stood out on the mottled forehead. His scanty white hair was draggled over his cheek. On the floor was a broken glass, wet stains still lay on the boards, and the place reeked of spirits. The four looked for a second—I do not think longer at him whom they would have made their king. They did not look at each other. With one accord they moved out, and Mr. Fish, who was last, closed the door very gently behind him. 

 In the hall below Mr. Galloway turned to me.  "Our mission is ended, Mr. Townshend. I have to thank you for your courtesy." Then to the others, "If we order the coaches now, we may get well on the way to Verona ere sundown." 

 

 An hour later two coaches rolled out of the courtyard of the Tre Croci. As they passed, a window was half-opened on the upper floor, and a head looked out. A line of a song came down, a song sung in a strange quavering voice. It was the catch I had heard the night before: 

 "Qu'est-ce qui passe ici si tard, Compagnons de la Marjolaine—e!" 

 It was true. The company came late indeed—too late by forty years.… 

 

 

 AVIGNON 

 1759 

 Hearts to break but nane to sell, Gear to tine but nane to hain;— We maun dree a weary spell Ere our lad comes back again. 

Gear to tine but nane to hain;—

Ere our lad comes back again.

 I walk abroad on winter days, When storms have stripped the wide champaign, For northern winds have norland ways, And scents of Badenoch haunt the rain. And by the lipping river path, When in the fog the Rhone runs grey, I see the heather of the Strath, And watch the salmon leap in Spey. 

When storms have stripped the wide champaign,

And scents of Badenoch haunt the rain.

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