At Brussels he gathered information as to the Duc d’Anjou’s intended campaign.  The Flemings were too hostile to the duke to receive well a Frenchman of distinction, and were too proud of their position to refrain from humiliating a little this gentleman who came from France and questioned them in a pure Parisian accent, which always seemed ridiculous to the Belgians.  Henri began to conceive serious fears with reference to this expedition, in which his brother was to bear so prominent a part, and he resolved in consequence to push on rapidly to Antwerp.  It was a constant surprise to him to see Remy and his companion, in spite of their desire not to be seen, continue to follow the same road as himself.

Henri, now hidden in the clover field, felt certain of seeing the face of the young man who accompanied Remy, and thus putting an end to all his doubts.  As they passed, unsuspicious of his vicinity, Diana was occupied in braiding up her hair, which she had not dared to untie at the inn.

Henri recognized her, and nearly fainted.  The travelers passed on, and then anger took, in Henri’s mind, the place of the goodness and patience he had exercised, while he believed Remy and the lady sincere toward him.  But after the protestations of Remy, this journey seemed to him a species of treason.

When he had recovered a little from the blow, he rose, shook back his beautiful light hair, and mounted his horse, determined no longer to take those precautions that respect had made him hitherto observe, and he began to follow the travelers openly, and with his face uncovered.  No more cloak nor hood, no more stops and hesitation; the road belonged to him as to them, and he rode on, regulating the pace of his horse by that of theirs.  He did not mean to speak to them, but only to let them see him.  Remy soon perceived him, and, seeing him thus openly advance without any further attempt at concealment, grew troubled; Diana noticed it and turned also.

“Is it not that young man following us?”

Remy, still trying to reassure her, said, “I do not think so, madame.  As well as I can judge by the dress, it is some young Walloon soldier going probably to Amsterdam, and passing by the theater of war to seek adventures.”

“I feel uneasy about him, Remy.”

“Reassure yourself, madame, had he been really the Comte du Bouchage, he would have spoken to us; you know how persevering he was.”

“I know also that he was respectful, Remy, or I should never have troubled myself about him, but simply told you to get rid of him.”

“Well, madame, if he be so respectful, you would have no more to fear from him on this road than in the Rue de Bussy.”

“Nevertheless, Remy, let us change our horses here at Mechlin, in order to get on faster to Antwerp.”

“On the contrary, madame, I should say, do not let us enter Mechlin at all; our horses are good, let us push on to that little village which is, I think, called Villebrock; in that manner we shall avoid the town, with its questioners and curious gazers.”