The horse was strong and fresh, and Bernard de Rohan rode on rapidly. The stars came out brighter and brighter as the night deepened, and the clear, deep, lustrous purple of those fair southern skies became mingled with yellow light, as the moon, looking large and defined, rose over the deep black summits of the eastern hills. It was not long before the French frontier was passed; and in those days, as Savoy was completely in the occupation of the French, no guards watched upon the way to stop or question the stranger coming from the neighbouring land.

Judging the distance which Isabel must have gone, even at a slow pace, to be considerable, Bernard de Rohan did not think fit to pause at any of the first towns or villages which he met with, but, avoiding man's habitation as far as possible, went on till his horse's speed began to flag, and he found it necessary to stop for repose and refreshment. He had now gone on, however, for about five hours, so that it was by this time the middle of the night, and with difficulty he made himself heard in a small hamlet on the rode to Grenoble. He procured, at length, some refreshment for himself and for his horse, but no tidings whatsoever which could lead him to judge whether Isabel and his servants had or had not taken the same road which he himself was following. He remained, however, for two hours, to allow the horse time to rest, and then, once more putting his foot in the stirrup, rode onward at a slower pace.

About an hour after, the day once more began to dawn, and he found himself winding in and out among the beautiful hills which border the Isere. Everything was rich, and fertile, and picturesque, and upon those scenes the eye of Bernard de Rohan could have rested with infinite pleasure at any other time; but now anxious eagerness hurried him on, scarcely remarking the objects around for any other purpose than to judge where he was, and how far from Grenoble. A little after five in the morning he passed through the small village of Montbonnat, and heard with gladness the assurance of the people of the place that he was not much more than two leagues from Grenoble.

After giving his horse a draught of water, he went on his way again through that beautiful district of streams and mountains, constantly ascending and descending, till at length, not far from the hamlet of Imfray, he saw before him a single horseman coming slowly on, the first person, in fact, whom he had met upon the road since he had set out the night before.

When the young cavalier first perceived him, the man was at the distance of some two hundred yards; but it was with no small pleasure that Bernard de Rohan at once recognised one of his own servants, named Pierre Millort, an honest but somewhat weak man, who had been born upon his own estates, and had served him for many years. He now felt certain of obtaining speedy news of Isabel de Brienne, and rode directly towards the other horseman, expecting that the man would remember his lord's person at once. The young nobleman, however, dressed in the habit which had been given him by Corse de Leon, bore not at all his usual aspect, and good Pierre Millort also devoutly believed him to be dead. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that he looked upon the person who approached him as a complete stranger; and, fancying that there was something in his appearance of a very doubtful nature, he drew his sword a little forward as he saw the strange cavalier riding directly up to him, and prepared to defend himself, in case of need, as well as might be.

When Bernard de Rohan called him by his name, however, asking if he did not recollect him, astonishment, not a little mingled with superstitious fear, made the man nearly fall from his horse, and he felt strongly inclined to argue the matter with his young master, in order to persuade him that he was really dead. At length, becoming fully convinced that such was not the case, and that Bernard himself, in a bodily and corporeal form, was before his eyes, he gave him the information which he desired regarding Isabel de Brienne, though that information was by no means satisfactory to the young cavalier.

The lady had arrived at Grenoble, he said, on the very same day that she had set out from Gandelot's inn; but, finding that her brother was not there, and had not sent any notice of his coming to the house in the city where she expected to hear of him, she had taken her departure on the following morning, in order to reach the capital and throw herself upon the protection of the king as speedily as possible. She hoped to arrive at Vienne in one day, the man continued, and had sent him off at once to convey intelligence of her route to somebody he was to meet at Gandelot's inn.

"Then how happened you not to be there last night?" demanded Bernard de Rohan. "Had you pursued your journey, you would have saved me the trouble of coming to Grenoble, and would have enabled me to cut across the country and join her at Vienne this morning. Now she will be two whole days in advance of me."

"And not a horse will you get in Grenoble with which to pursue your way," replied the man; "for that's the reason, sir, why I did not come on at once."

"Had you not your own horse?" demanded Bernard de Rohan, somewhat angrily.

"Yes, sir," answered the servant, "I had; but a sad accident happened to him, poor fellow. I left Grenoble at the very same moment that the lady set out for Vienne; but I had not got far beyond La Tronche, when, the road being covered with loose stones which had rolled down from the hill, my horse slipped and fell, cutting both his knees to pieces. I was obliged to lead him back into the town, and no horse could I get for love or money, till at length I made a bargain with a peasant from Bachat to change with me, he taking my fine beast on the chance of curing him, and giving me this wretched animal in his stead, to enable me to go on my way. It is not, however, an hour since he brought the beast in. So you see, Sir, I have lost no time."

"That is enough," said Bernard de Rohan, thoughtfully, "that is enough. I must go on to Grenoble now, however. Come with me; you will not be wanted at Gandelot's inn;" and, thus saying, he rode on to the town, where it was necessary to give his own horse a long time to rest, for the distance which he had come was more than fifty miles, and the road steep, difficult, and fatiguing.

Judging by the rate at which Isabel was proceeding, it was clear that she must reach Lyons before that day closed; for, though she might not accomplish her purpose of arriving at Vienne on the day before, yet the distance to Lyons itself was but two easy days' journey.

Every means that long military experience suggested was employed by Bernard de Rohan to refresh and invigorate his horse more speedily, and those means were very successful, although some of them may appear to us, in this age, somewhat fantastic. Balls of spice were given to the animal, his feet and pasterns were bathed in red wine, and various other proceedings of the same kind were adopted with a similar view. It was impossible, however, to go on till towards the evening, and even then the young cavalier found that it was in vain to seek Vienne that night, as neither his own horse nor that of his attendant could accomplish the distance. They proceeded as far as possible, however, so as to leave a moderate day's journey between them and Lyons; and on the succeeding evening Bernard de Rohan had the pleasure of seeing the fair city of the Rhone spread out before his eyes, and of knowing that there could not well be more than one day's journey between him and her he loved.

The great difficulty, however, now was to discover at what inn Isabel had lodged on the preceding night, in order to ascertain what route she had followed on her farther journey. Lyons, even at that time, was a very large and important city, filled with inns of every sort and description; and, as in those days despotic suspicion had not invented the fetter-lock of passports; as there was no tyrannical police, no licensed spies to whom the abode of every citizen, the sleeping-place of every traveller, the movements of every being in the realm were known, as is now the case in France, Bernard de Rohan had no other means of ascertaining the resting-place of Isabel during the preceding night than his own conjectures or inquiries made at all the principal places of public reception.

When he had himself passed through Lyons some time before, he had been in command of a considerable body of soldiers, and had lodged at an inn in the suburb of La Guillotiere. That suburb was not so large in those days as at present; but it possessed at that period one of the best inns which Lyons could boast of; and, as the servants who now accompanied Isabel de Brienne were then with him, and he had remained for several days there, he judged it not at all unlikely that they might have conducted his fair bride to the resting-place where they had previously lodged. He rode, then, directly to the same inn, which was surrounded by its own court and gardens; but the faces that presented themselves were strange to him; for, among all the mutable things of this earth, there are few more mutable than the servants of an inn.

In general, at all the auberges on the road, a man on horseback was sure to meet with attention and good treatment; but, in such a city as Lyons, luxury had of course brought fastidious notions along with it; and the frequent visits of persons with large trains, ladies in immense rumbling carriages or clumsy horse-litters, made the horseman with his single attendant and weary horses an object of very little importance in the eyes of the drawers and ostlers.

Perceiving some slackness of civility, the young cavalier ordered the host to be sent to him, and the landlord of the Checkers—for so the inn was called—presented himself, gazing upon the young gentleman at first as a perfect stranger. A moment after, however, the face of the Baron de Rohan came to his remembrance, at first connecting itself vaguely with considerable sums of money received, and numerous expensive attendants, horses, arms, banners, et cetera; so that his satellites were very soon surprised by seeing various low and profound inclinations of his head, as he welcomed "his lordship" back to Lyons; hoped that the campaign had gone well with him. Gradually recollecting more of the circumstances, he recalled even his visiter's name itself, and, in tones of indignant haste, bade the stable-boys take Monseigneur de Rohan's horses, and the chamberlain show monseigneur himself to the best apartments of the inn, while he followed, bowing lowly every time the young cavalier turned round.

Bernard de Rohan's first inquiries were for Isabel de Brienne; but the good host was far too wise and practised in his profession to satisfy the young gentleman fully before he had fixed him at his own inn. Oh yes, undoubtedly, he said, such a lady had been there, and had set off that very morning, with just such attendants as monseigneur described. He would come back and tell him more, he continued, in one minute, when he had merely given orders for a nice little supper to be sent up, and had seen that the horses were properly cared for. But, when he at length made his appearance, after being absent till the supper he talked of was nearly ready, and the young gentleman actually sent for him, it then turned out, of course, that the lady he spoke of was quite a different person, some forty years of age, and the widow of some famous marshal dead many years before.

Bernard de Rohan was disappointed, but he did not suffer his equanimity to be disturbed at finding some little want of sincerity in an innkeeper. He partook but lightly, however, of the good host's supper; and then, directing the attendant who accompanied him to make inquiries at all the inns in the suburb where they then were, he himself set out on foot, and, passing the bridge, pursued the search throughout the town of Lyons. That search, however, proved vain; and not the slightest tidings of Isabel and her train had Bernard de Rohan been able to find before the sun went down.

He was preparing to return to the inn, in the hope that his servant might have been more successful than himself, when, in passing down one of the long, narrow streets which led from the great square, he was met by a crowd of people so dense that he found it would be absolutely impossible to traverse it, and he accordingly turned (little caring what had caused the assemblage) in order to pass round by the Church of the Feuillans, and make his way homeward by another street.

The pavement of the good town of Lyons is by no means pleasant or easy to walk upon in the present day, being entirely composed of round, slippery stones, on which the feet seem to have no hold. In those times it was even worse, for it was irregular in construction as well as bad in material; and Bernard de Rohan himself, though strong and active, found it no easy task to outwalk, even by a pace or two, a crowd of persons better accustomed to tread those streets than himself. He had contrived to get a few steps in advance, however, and had reached the long, narrow street which passes round by the side of the church, when he was stopped, just as he was about to pass down it, by another crowd as dense as the first, by which he was forcibly borne along. The two currents, meeting in the more open street he had just quitted, carried him forward in the midst of them; and, finding it impossible to escape, he gave himself up for the time, and, turning to a lad who was near, inquired what was the occasion which called so many persons together.

"Why, where do you come from, seigneur," said the young man, "that you don't know all this business?"

"I come from Italy," replied Bernard de Rohan, "where I have been with the army; but, once again, what is all this about?"

"Why, I should have thought it might have reached there," replied the lad. "But don't you know they are bringing along Jamets, the great heretic printer, to burn him in the Place de Terreaux?"

"Indeed!" said Bernard de Rohan. "Pray what has he done to merit such a terrible punishment?"

"What has he done?" cried the young man, with a look of indignation. "He is a heretic; is not that enough? Don't they all mock the holy mass? What has he done? I should not wonder if you were a heretic yourself."

"No, no, my good youth," replied Bernard de Rohan, "I certainly am not that. But they were not so strict about these matters a year or two ago, when I went with the army into Italy."

"There is much need they should be strict now," replied the boy, who, as usual, thought it manly to outdo the follies of his elders, "for the poisonous vermin have infected the whole place. Don't push so, Peter," he continued, speaking to one of those behind him, who was urging him forward exactly in the same manner that he was pressing on those before him.

"Get on! get on! or we shall not see the sight," cried the other. "They have taken him on through the lane."

In a few minutes the crowd began to issue forth into the Place de Terreaux; and, before he could disengage himself, the terrible preparations for burning one of the unfortunate victims of superstition were before the eyes of Bernard de Rohan. A space was railed off in the centre of the square, and kept clear by guards; but in the midst thereof, at the distance of about thirty yards from the young cavalier, appeared an elderly man, with a fine and intelligent countenance, pale as ashes, and evidently fully sensible of all the agonies of the death he was about to endure. He was chained upright to an enormous post or stake driven into the ground, and one of the brutal executioners was seen fastening the chain tighter round his neck, though another had by this time lighted the fagots which had been piled up underneath and around his feet. From time to time the victim closed his eyes, and his lips moved as if murmuring forth a prayer; at other moments he cast a wild and fearful glance round upon the people; but, in general, he remained still and quiet, as if striving within himself to subdue the natural repugnance of the flesh to the endurance of pain and death.

Bernard de Rohan loved not such sights nor such acts; and as in that open space the crowd was thinner around him, he was turning away once more to pursue his path homeward, when a capuchin friar approached the unfortunate man, and, holding up a crucifix, seemed to exhort him to abandon his faith. At that point, however, all the firmness which had supported him through imprisonment and trial came back, and, waving his hand indignantly, he turned away his head with a gesture of disgust.

The capuchin raised both his arms towards the sky; and a roar of furious exultation burst from the people, as the flames, almost at the same moment, were seen to rise up round the unfortunate victim, and the convulsive gasp of agony distorted his countenance.

Bernard de Rohan forced his way on; but, as he did so, some one touched his arm from behind, evidently intentionally, and, looking in that direction, he beheld, to his great surprise, the countenance of Corse de Leon.

The brigand gazed upon him for a moment, but without speaking, then turned his head away; and, recollecting the warning which he had received, not to notice him unless spoken to by him, Bernard de Rohan made his way out through the people, and reached the inn just as it was growing dark. He now found that his attendant had been as little successful as himself in the search for Isabel de Brienne; but the landlord informed him that a gentleman named the Chevalier Lenoir had been there to inquire for him; and Bernard de Rohan, trusting that Corse de Leon might possess some better means of information than himself concerning the course which Isabel had taken, waited impatiently for the brigand's return.