Such unusual sounds excited her curiosity; and, instead
of going to the ramparts, she went to an upper casement, from whence
she saw, in the court below, a large party of horsemen, dressed in a
singular, but uniform, habit, and completely, though variously, armed. They wore a kind of short jacket, composed of black and scarlet, and
several of them had a cloak, of plain black, which, covering the person
entirely, hung down to the stirrups. As one of these cloaks glanced
aside, she saw, beneath, daggers, apparently of different sizes, tucked
into the horseman’s belt. She further observed, that these were
carried, in the same manner, by many of the horsemen without cloaks,
most of whom bore also pikes, or javelins. On their heads, were the
small Italian caps, some of which were distinguished by black feathers. Whether these caps gave a fierce air to the countenance, or that the
countenances they surmounted had naturally such an appearance, Emily
thought she had never, till then, seen an assemblage of faces so savage
and terrific. While she gazed, she almost fancied herself surrounded by
banditti; and a vague thought glanced athwart her fancy—that Montoni
was the captain of the group before her, and that this castle was to be
the place of rendezvous. The strange and horrible supposition was but
momentary, though her reason could supply none more probable, and
though she discovered, among the band, the strangers she had formerly
noticed with so much alarm, who were now distinguished by the black
plume. While she continued gazing, Cavigni, Verezzi, and Bertolini came forth
from the hall, habited like the rest, except that they wore hats, with
a mixed plume of black and scarlet, and that their arms differed from
those of the rest of the party. As they mounted their horses, Emily was
struck with the exulting joy, expressed on the visage of Verezzi, while
Cavigni was gay, yet with a shade of thought on his countenance; and,
as he managed his horse with dexterity, his graceful and commanding
figure, which exhibited the majesty of a hero, had never appeared to
more advantage. Emily, as she observed him, thought he somewhat
resembled Valancourt, in the spirit and dignity of his person; but she
looked in vain for the noble, benevolent countenance—the soul’s
intelligence, which overspread the features of the latter. As she was hoping, she scarcely knew why, that Montoni would accompany
the party, he appeared at the hall door, but un-accoutred. Having
carefully observed the horsemen, conversed awhile with the cavaliers,
and bidden them farewell, the band wheeled round the court, and, led by
Verezzi, issued forth under the portcullis; Montoni following to the
portal, and gazing after them for some time. Emily then retired from
the casement, and, now certain of being unmolested, went to walk on the
ramparts, from whence she soon after saw the party winding among the
mountains to the west, appearing and disappearing between the woods,
till distance confused their figures, consolidated their numbers, and
only a dingy mass appeared moving along the heights. Emily observed, that no workmen were on the ramparts, and that the
repairs of the fortifications seemed to be completed. While she
sauntered thoughtfully on, she heard distant footsteps, and, raising
her eyes, saw several men lurking under the castle walls, who were
evidently not workmen, but looked as if they would have accorded well
with the party which was gone. Wondering where Annette had hid herself
so long, who might have explained some of the late circumstances, and
then considering that Madame Montoni was probably risen, she went to
her dressing-room, where she mentioned what had occurred; but Madame
Montoni either would not, or could not, give any explanation of the
event. The Signor’s reserve to his wife, on this subject, was probably
nothing more than usual; yet, to Emily, it gave an air of mystery to
the whole affair, that seemed to hint there was danger, if not villany,
in his schemes. Annette presently came, and, as usual, was full of alarm; to her lady’s
eager enquiries of what she had heard among the servants, she replied:

“Ah, madam! nobody knows what it is all about, but old Carlo; he knows
well enough, I dare say, but he is as close as his master. Some say the
Signor is going out to frighten the enemy, as they call it: but where
is the enemy? Then others say, he is going to take away somebody’s
castle: but I am sure he has room enough in his own, without taking
other people’s; and I am sure I should like it a great deal better, if
there were more people to fill it.”

“Ah! you will soon have your wish, I fear,” replied Madame Montoni. “No, madam, but such ill-looking fellows are not worth having. I mean
such gallant, smart, merry fellows as Ludovico, who is always telling
droll stories, to make one laugh. It was but yesterday, he told me such
a _humoursome_ tale! I can’t help laughing at it now.—Says he—”

“Well, we can dispense with the story,” said her lady. “Ah!” continued Annette, “he sees a great way further than other
people! Now he sees into all the Signor’s meaning, without knowing a
word about the matter!”

“How is that?” said Madame Montoni. “Why he says—but he made me promise not to tell, and I would not
disoblige him for the world.”

“What is it he made you promise not to tell?” said her lady, sternly. “I insist upon knowing immediately—what is it he made you promise?”

“O madam,” cried Annette, “I would not tell for the universe!”

“I insist upon your telling this instant,” said Madame Montoni. “O dear madam! I would not tell for a hundred sequins! You would not
have me forswear myself madam!” exclaimed Annette. “I will not wait another moment,” said Madame Montoni. Annette was
silent. “The Signor shall be informed of this directly,” rejoined her mistress;
“he will make you discover all.”

“It is Ludovico, who has discovered,” said Annette: “but for mercy’s
sake, madam, don’t tell the Signor, and you shall know all directly.”
Madame Montoni said, that she would not. “Well then, madam, Ludovico says, that the Signor, my master,
is—is—that is, he only thinks so, and anybody, you know, madam, is free
to think—that the Signor, my master, is—is—”

“Is what?” said her lady, impatiently. “That the Signor, my master, is going to be—a great robber—that is—he
is going to rob on his own account;—to be, (but I am sure I don’t
understand what he means) to be a—captain of—robbers.”

“Art thou in thy senses, Annette?” said Madame Montoni; “or is this a
trick to deceive me? Tell me, this instant, what Ludovico _did_ say to
thee;—no equivocation;—this instant.”

“Nay, madam,” cried Annette, “if this is all I am to get for having
told the secret—” Her mistress thus continued to insist, and Annette to
protest, till Montoni, himself, appeared, who bade the latter leave the
room, and she withdrew, trembling for the fate of her story.