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Reading books adventure Nowadays a big variety of genres are exist. In our electronic library you can choose any book that suits your mood, request and purpose. This website is full of free ebooks. Reading online is very popular and become mainstream. This website can provoke you to be smarter than anyone. You can read between work breaks, in public transport, in cafes over a cup of coffee and cheesecake.
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Today let's analyze the genre adventure. Genre adventure is a reference book for adults and children. But it serve for adults and children in different purposes. If a boy or girl presents himself as a brave and courageous hero, doing noble deeds, then an adult with pleasure can be a little distracted from their daily worries.


A great interest to the reader is the adventure of a historical nature. For example, question: «Who discovered America?»
Today there are quite interesting descriptions of the adventures of Portuguese sailors, who visited this continent 20 years before Columbus.




It should be noted the different quality of literary works created in the genre of adventure. There is an understandable interest of generations of people in the classic adventure. At the same time, new works, which are created by contemporary authors, make classic works in the adventure genre quite worthy competition.
The close attention of readers to the genre of adventure is explained by the very essence of man, which involves constant movement, striving for something new, struggle and achievement of success. Adventure genre is very excited
Heroes of adventure books are always strong and brave. And we, off course, want to be like them. Unfortunately, book life is very different from real life.But that doesn't stop us from loving books even more.

Read books online » Adventure » Bardelys the Magnificent by Rafael Sabatini (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) 📖

Book online «Bardelys the Magnificent by Rafael Sabatini (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) 📖». Author Rafael Sabatini



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France. Peste! The very memory of the fellow makes me sick.

Let us talk of other things.”

 

But although I urged it with the best will and the best intentions

in the world, I was not to have my way. The air became suddenly

heavy with the scent of musk, and the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache

stood before us, and forced the conversation once more upon the

odious topic of Monsieur de Bardelys.

 

The poor fool came with a plan of campaign carefully considered,

bent now upon overthrowing me with the knowledge he would exhibit,

and whereby he looked to encompass my humiliation before his cousin.

 

“Speaking of Bardelys, Monsieur de Lesperon—”

 

“My dear Chevalier, we were no longer speaking of him.”

 

He smiled darkly. “Let us speak of him, then.”

 

“But are there not a thousand more interesting things that we might

speak of?”

 

This he took for a fresh sign of fear, and so he pressed what he

accounted his advantage.

 

“Yet have patience; there is a point on which perhaps you can give

me some information.”

 

“Impossible,” said I.

 

“Are you acquainted with the Duchesse de Bourgogne?”

 

“I was,” I answered casually, and as casually I added, “Are you?”

 

“Excellently well,” he replied unhesitatingly. “I was in Paris at

the time of the scandal with Bardelys.”

 

I looked up quickly.

 

“Was it then that you met her?” I inquired in an idle sort of way.

 

“Yes. I was in the confidence of Bardelys, and one night after we

had supped at his hotel - one of those suppers graced by every wit

in Paris - he asked me if I were minded to accompany him to the

Louvre. We went. A masque was in progress.”

 

“Ah,” said I, after the manner of one who suddenly takes in the

entire situation; “and it was at this masque that you met the

Duchesse?”

 

“You have guessed it. Ah, monsieur, if I were to tell you of the

things that I witnessed that night, they would amaze you,” said he,

with a great air and a casual glance at Mademoiselle to see into

what depth of wonder these glimpses into his wicked past were

plunging her.

 

“I doubt it not,” said I, thinking that if his imagination were as

fertile in that connection as it had been in mine he was likely,

indeed, to have some amazing things to tell. “But do I understand

you to say that that was the time of the scandal you have touched

upon?”

 

“The scandal burst three days after that masque. It came as a

surprise to most people. As for me - from what Bardelys had told

me - I expected nothing less.”

 

“Pardon, Chevalier, but how old do you happen to be?”

 

“A curious question that,” said he, knitting his brows.

 

“Perhaps. But will you not answer it?”

 

“I am twenty-one,” said he. “What of it?”

 

“You are twenty, mon cousin,” Roxalanne corrected him.

 

He looked at her a second with an injured air.

 

“Why, true - twenty! That is so,” he acquiesced; and again, “what

of it?” he demanded.

 

“What of it, monsieur?” I echoed. “Will you forgive me if I

express amazement at your precocity, and congratulate you upon it?”

 

His brows went if possible closer together and his face grew very

red. He knew that somewhere a pitfall awaited him, yet hardly where.

 

“I do not understand you.”

 

“Bethink you, Chevalier. Ten years have flown since this scandal

you refer to. So that at the time of your supping with Bardelys and

the wits of Paris, at the time of his making a confidant of you and

carrying you off to a masque at the Louvre, at the time of his

presenting you to the Duchesse de Bourgogne, you were just ten years

of age. I never had cause to think over-well of Bardelys, but had

you not told me yourself, I should have hesitated to believe him so

vile a despoiler of innocence, such a perverter of youth.”

 

He crimsoned to the very roots of his hair.

 

Roxalanne broke into a laugh. “My cousin, my cousin,” she cried,

“they that would become masters should begin early, is it not so?”

 

“Monsieur de Lesperon,” said he, in a very formal voice, “do you

wish me to apprehend that you have put me through this catechism

for the purpose of casting a doubt upon what I have said?”

 

“But have I done that? Have I cast a doubt?” I asked, with the

utmost meekness.

 

“So I apprehend.”

 

“Then you apprehend amiss. Your words, I assure you, admit of no

doubt whatever. And now, monsieur, if you will have mercy upon me,

we will talk of other things. I am so weary of this unfortunate

Bardelys and his affairs. He may be the fashion of Paris and at

Court, but down here his very name befouls the air. Mademoiselle,”

I said, turning to Roxalanne, “you promised me a lesson in the lore

of flowers.”

 

“Come, then,” said she, and, being an exceedingly wise child, she

plunged straightway into the history of the shrubs about us.

 

Thus did we avert a storm that for a moment was very imminent. Yet

some mischief was done, and some good, too, perhaps. For if I made

an enemy of the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache by humbling him in the

eyes of the one woman before whom he sought to shine, I established

a bond ‘twixt Roxalanne and myself by that same humiliation of a

foolish coxcomb, whose boastfulness had long wearied her.

CHAPTER VII

THE HOSTILITY OF SAINT-EUSTACHE

 

In the days that followed I saw much of the Chevalier de

Saint-Eustache. He was a very constant visitor at Lavedan, and the

reason of it was not far to seek. For my own part, I disliked

him - I had done so from the moment when first I had set eyes on

him - and since hatred, like affection, is often a matter of

reciprocity, the Chevalier was not slow to return my dislike. Our

manner gradually, by almost imperceptible stages, grew more distant,

until by the end of a week it had become so hostile that Lavedan

found occasion to comment upon it.

 

“Beware of Saint-Eustache,” he warned me. “You are becoming very

manifestly distasteful to each other, and I would urge you to have

a care. I don’t trust him. His attachment to our Cause is of a

lukewarm character, and he gives me uneasiness, for he may do much

harm if he is so inclined. It is on this account that I tolerate

his presence at Lavedan. Frankly, I fear him, and I would counsel

you to do no less. The man is a liar, even if but a boastful liar

and liars are never long out of mischief.”

 

The wisdom of the words was unquestionable, but the advice in them

was not easily followed, particularly by one whose position was so

peculiar as my own. In a way I had little cause to fear the harm

the Chevalier might do me, but I was impelled to consider the harm

that at the same time he might do the Vicomte.

 

Despite our growing enmity, the Chevalier and I were very frequently

thrown together. The reason for this was, of course, that wherever

Roxalanne was to be found there, generally, were we both to be found

also. Yet had I advantages that must have gone to swell a rancour

based as much upon jealousy as any other sentiment, for whilst he

was but a daily visitor at Lavedan, I was established there

indefinitely.

 

Of the use that I made of that time I find it difficult to speak.

From the first moment that I had beheld Roxalanne I had realized

the truth of Chatellerault’s assertion that I had never known a

woman. He was right. Those that I had met and by whom I had

judged the sex had, by contrast with this child, little claim to

the title. Virtue I had accounted a shadow without substance;

innocence, a synonym for ignorance; love, a fable, a fairy tale

for the delectation of overgrown children.

 

In the company of Roxalanne de Lavedan all those old, cynical

beliefs, built up upon a youth of undesirable experiences, were

shattered and the error of them exposed. Swiftly was I becoming a

convert to the faith which so long I had sneered at, and as lovesick

as any unfledged youth in his first amour.

 

Damn! It was something for a man who had lived as I had lived to

have his pulses quicken and his colour change at a maid’s approach;

to find himself colouring under her smile and paling under her

disdain; to have his mind running on rhymes, and his soul so enslaved

that, if she is not to be won, chagrin will dislodge it from his body.

 

Here was a fine mood for a man who had entered upon his business by

pledging himself to win and wed this girl in cold and supreme

indifference to her personality. And that pledge, how I cursed it

during those days at Lavedan! How I cursed Chatellerault, cunning,

subtle trickster that he was! How I cursed myself for my lack of

chivalry and honour in having been lured so easily into so damnable

a business! For when the memory of that wager rose before me it

brought despair in its train. Had I found Roxalanne the sort of

woman that I had looked to find - the only sort that I had ever

known - then matters had been easy. I had set myself in cold blood,

and by such wiles as I knew, to win such affection as might be hers

to bestow; and I would have married her in much the same spirit as

a man performs any other of the necessary acts of his lifetime and

station. I would have told her that I was Bardelys, and to the woman

that I had expected to find there had been no difficulty in making

the confession. But to Roxalanne! Had there been no wager, I might

have confessed my identity. As it was, I found it impossible to

avow the one without the other. For the sweet innocence that

invested her gentle, trusting soul must have given pause to any but

the most abandoned of men before committing a vileness in connection

with her.

 

We were much together during that week, and just as day by day, hour

by hour, my passion grew and grew until it absorbed me utterly, so,

too, did it seem to me that it awakened in her a responsive note.

There was an odd light at times in her soft eyes; I came upon her

more than once with snatches of love-songs on her lips, and when she

smiled upon me there was a sweet tenderness in her smile, which, had

things been different, would have gladdened my soul beyond all else;

but which, things being as they were, was rather wont to heighten

my despair. I was no coxcomb; I had had experiences, and I knew

these signs. But something, too, I guessed of the heart of such a

one as Roxalanne. To the full I realized the pain and shame I should

inflict upon her when my confession came; I realized, too, how the

love of this dear child, so honourable and high of mind, must turn

to contempt and scorn when I plucked away my mask, and let her see

how poor a countenance I wore beneath.

 

And yet I drifted with the tide of things. It was my habit so to

drift, and the habit of a lifetime

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