Max Pemberton

“ The shiver of the aspen, the ripple of brook or stream, the long-drawn note of a night bird intensified the dreamy silence of the forest. Here and there when a horse forced his way through the bramble with a snap of twigs and a rustle of boughs, a wolf sprang out of his cover and raced across the sward. The shimmer of the light in many a glade showed stags browsing, or wild ponies herding. But of habitation there was no sign, nor of man.
The little troop must have left the priest twenty minutes before de Guyon resumed his conversation with the rogue who had led him on such a fool's errand. ”

“ Every path I know, and yet which path is which, the devil take me if I can say. Look yonder now; there is a grove of yoke-elms with a wood of pines beyond it, and a brook hollow betwixt and between. I could name a hundred such within ten leagues from the Table du Roi. Oh, truly, mon maître, I know the forest as a horse knows the stable."
De Guyon, whose beast stumbled often upon the sandy track, and whose patience was fast ebbing, answered him with a fresh objurgation—long and lasting. ”

“ And how the king would listen to the creed of such a piquant disciple! What a task the conversion would be. He began even to wonder who would marry her when the royal ears were weary of her platitudes, and the spell of debauchery had chilled her zeal. ”