The Mysteries of Udolpho

to enter, and to partake of such fare as they were about to sit down to. The Count, who had observed them attentively while they spoke, was cautious, and somewhat suspicious; but he was also weary, fearful of the approaching storm, and of encountering alpine heights in the obscurity of night; being likewise somewhat confident in the strength and number of his attendants, he, after some further consideration, determined to accept the invitation. With this resolution he called his servants, who, advancing round the tower, behind which some of them had silently listened to this conference, followed their Lord, the Lady Blanche, and St. Foix into the fortress. The strangers led them on to a large and rude hall, partially seen by a fire that blazed at its extremity, round which four men, in the hunter’s dress, were seated, and on the hearth were several dogs stretched in sleep. In the middle of the hall stood a large table, and over the fire some part of an animal was boiling. As the Count approached, the men arose, and the dogs, half raising themselves, looked fiercely at the strangers, but, on hearing their masters’ voices, kept their postures on the hearth.

Blanche looked round this gloomy and spacious hall; then at the men, and to her father, who, smiling cheerfully at her, addressed himself to the hunters. “This is a hospitable hearth,” said he, “the blaze of a fire is reviving after having wandered so long in these dreary wilds. Your dogs are tired; what success have you had?” “Such as we usually have,” replied one of the men, who had been seated in the hall, “we kill our game with tolerable certainty.” “These are fellow hunters,” said one of the men who had brought the Count hither, “that have lost their way, and I have told them there is room enough in the fort for us all.” “Very true, very true,” replied his companion, “What luck have you had in the chase, brothers? We have killed two izards, and that, you will say, is pretty well.” “You mistake, friend,” said the Count, “we are not hunters, but travellers; but, if you will admit us to hunters’ fare, we shall be well contented, and will repay your kindness.” “Sit down then, brother,” said one of the men: “Jacques, lay more fuel on the fire, the kid will soon be ready; bring a seat for the lady too. Ma’amselle, will you taste our brandy? it is true Barcelona, and as bright as ever flowed from a keg.” Blanche timidly smiled, and was going to refuse, when her father prevented her, by taking, with a good humoured air, the glass offered to his daughter; and Mons. St. Foix, who was seated next her, pressed her hand, and gave her an encouraging look, but her attention was engaged by a man, who sat silently by the fire, observing St. Foix, with a steady and earnest eye.

“You lead a jolly life here,” said the Count. “The life of a hunter is a pleasant and a healthy one; and the repose is sweet, which succeeds to your labour.”

“Yes,” replied one of his hosts, “our life is pleasant enough. We live here only during the summer, and autumnal months; in winter, the place is dreary, and the swoln torrents, that descend from the heights, put a stop to the chase.”

“ ’Tis a life of liberty and enjoyment,” said the Count: “I should like to pass a month in your way very well.”

“We find employment for our guns too,” said a man who stood behind the Count: “here are plenty of birds, of delicious flavour, that feed upon the wild thyme and herbs, that grow in the valleys. Now I think of it, there is a brace of birds hung up in the stone gallery; go fetch them, Jacques, we will have them dressed.”

The Count now made enquiry, concerning the method of pursuing the chase among the rocks and precipices of these romantic regions, and was listening to a curious detail, when a horn was sounded at the gate. Blanche looked timidly at her father, who continued to converse on the subject of the chase, but whose countenance was somewhat expressive of anxiety, and who often turned his eyes towards that part of the hall nearest the gate. The horn sounded again, and a loud halloo succeeded. “These are some of our companions, returned from their day’s labour,” said a man, going lazily from his seat towards the gate; and in a few minutes, two men appeared, each with a gun over his shoulder, and pistols in his belt. “What cheer, my lads? what cheer?” said they, as they approached. “What luck?” returned their companions: “have you brought home your supper? You shall have none else.”

“Hah! who the devil have you brought home?” said they in bad Spanish, on perceiving the Count’s party, “are they from France, or Spain?⁠—where did you meet with them?”

“They met with us, and a merry meeting too,” replied his companion aloud in good French. “This chevalier, and his party, had lost their way, and asked a night’s lodging in the fort.” The others made no reply, but threw down a kind of knapsack, and drew forth several brace of birds. The bag sounded heavily as it fell to the ground, and the glitter of some bright metal within glanced on the eye of the Count, who now surveyed, with a more enquiring look, the man, that held the knapsack. He was a tall robust figure, of a hard countenance, and had short black hair, curling in his neck. Instead of the hunter’s dress, he wore a faded military uniform; sandals were laced on his broad legs, and a kind of short trousers hung from his waist. On his head he wore a leathern cap, somewhat resembling in shape an ancient Roman helmet; but the brows that scowled beneath it, would have characterised those of the barbarians, who conquered Rome, rather than those of a Roman soldier. The Count,