Saint Martins Summer | Page 3

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This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

St. Martin's Summer
by Rafael Sabatini
Originally published in 1921

CONTENTS
I. THE SENESCHAL OF DAUPHINY II. MONSIEUR DE
GARNACHE III. THE DOWAGER'S COMPLIANCE IV. THE
CHATEAU DE CONDILLAC V. MONSIEUR DE GARNACHE
LOSES HIS TEMPER VI. MONSIEUR DE GARNACHE KEEPS HIS
TEMPER VII. THE OPENING OF THE TRAP VIII. THE CLOSING
OF THE TRAP IX. THE SENESCHAL'S ADVICE X. THE RECRUIT
XI. VALERIE'S GAOLER XII. A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE XIII.
THE COURIER XIV. FLORIMOND'S LETTER XV. THE

CONFERENCE XVI. THE UNEXPECTED XVII. HOW MONSIEUR
DE GARNACHE LEFT CONDILLAC XVIII. IN THE MOAT XIX.
THROUGH THE NIGHT XX. FLORIMOND DE CONDILLAC XXI.
THE GHOST IN THE CUPBOARD XXII. THE OFFICES OF
MOTHER CHURCH XXIII. THE JUDGMENT OF GARNACHE
XXIV. SAINT MARTINS EVE

SAINT MARTIN'S SUMMER
CHAPTER I
THE SENESCHAL OF DAUPHINY
My Lord of Tressan, His Majesty's Seneschal of Dauphiny, sat at his
ease, his purple doublet all undone, to yield greater freedom to his vast
bulk, a yellow silken undergarment visible through the gap, as is visible
the flesh of some fruit that, swollen with over-ripeness, has burst its
skin.
His wig - imposed upon him by necessity, not fashion lay on the table
amid a confusion of dusty papers, and on his little fat nose, round and
red as a cherry at its end, rested the bridge of his horn-rimmed
spectacles. His bald head - so bald and shining that it conveyed an
unpleasant sense of nakedness, suggesting that its uncovering had been
an act of indelicacy on the owner's part - rested on the back of his great
chair, and hid from sight the gaudy escutcheon wrought upon the
crimson leather. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and whether
from that mouth or from his nose - or, perhaps, conflicting for issue
between both - there came a snorting, rumbling sound to proclaim that
my Lord the Seneschal was hard at work upon the King's business.
Yonder, at a meaner table, in an angle between two windows, a
pale-faced thread-bare secretary was performing for a yearly pittance
the duties for which my Lord the Seneschal was rewarded by
emoluments disproportionately large.

The air of that vast apartment was disturbed by the sounds of Monsieur
de Tressan's slumbers, the scratch and splutter of the secretary's pen,
and the occasional hiss and crackle of the logs that burned in the great,
cavern-like fireplace. Suddenly to these another sound was added. With
a rasp and rattle the heavy curtains of blue velvet flecked with