Robin
Turgis knew them all, admired them all, feared them all, and yet he
held head against them because his Beaune wine was so adorable, and
because he could keep his own counsel. Slender Ren? de Montigny, in
a jerkin of rubbed and faded purple velvet, with his malign,
Italianate face and his delicate Italianate grace; rotund Guy
Tabarie, bluff, red and bald; Casin Cholet, tall and bird-like, with
the figure of a stork and the features of a bird of prey; Jehan le
Loup, who looked as vulpine as his nickname; these Robin Turgis eyed
and catalogued with a kind of pride. It was a fearsome privilege for
the Fircone to boast such patronage. On the settle, with his face to
the fire, Colin de Cayeulx sprawled in a drunken sleep, forgetting
and forgotten, a harmless looking, good-natured looking knave who
was neither harmless nor good-natured.
For every man of the gang there was a woman, and there was a woman
over, who was easily the central star of the flaunting galaxy. The
shabby bravery of the men was matched by the shabby bravery of five
out of the six women. Gaudy, painted, assertive strumpets with
young, fair, shameless faces--worthy Jills of the ill-favoured Jacks
who cuddled them--Jehanneton, the fair helm-maker; Denise, Blanche,
Isabeau, and Guillemette, the landlord's daughter, who consorted
gaily enough with these brightly-plumaged birds of a rogue's
paradise.
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