His mind was occupied with that sound of marching, which came steadily nearer.
At length he could endure it no longer, and the apathy of his companions fired him openly to rebel.
"My lord," he cried, turning to the Count, and again leaving his story interrupted, "they are all but upon us." "True!" agreed Francesco indifferently.

"The next turn yonder should bring us into them." "Then I beg you, Lord Count, to step aside.

Let us pause here, under the trees, until they have passed.

I am full of fears.

Perhaps I am a coward, but I mislike these roving night-hands.