Toward the middle of December, 1813, a man was riding through the Black Forest.

This man seemed to be still in the vigor of youth. He wore a long, brown surtout and leathern gaiters. His hair was worn in a queue, and powdered. Night was coming on, and Pierre Labarre, confidential servant of the Marquis de Fongereues, was somewhat weary and eager to get on.

"Quick!" he said to his horse. "Quick! They are waiting for us, and we are the bearers of good news!"

The animal seemed to understand, and accelerated his pace.

Suddenly Pierre started. He had reached a group of nine trees, one of which had been struck by lightning, making the group a conspicuous one. The rider listened as he pulled up his steed.

"Surely," he said to himself, "I heard the trot of a horse on the other side of the Nine Trees!"

The road widened here and divided. He laid his hand on his breast by an involuntary movement.

"The portfolio is safe, any way! Get on, Margotte." And he lifted his reins.

But, as if this movement were a signal, he heard distinctly a horse coming toward him, this time at a full gallop, and then Pierre saw a shadow pass some thirty yards away.

He drew out a pistol, and rode with it in his hand until he passed the cross-road, but he saw and heard nothing more. Perhaps he had been mistaken—it was only a messenger traveling the same road as himself. He had entered the path which in a half hour would take him into Fribourg, when suddenly there was a flash and a report. A ball struck Pierre in the breast—he fell forward on the neck of his horse. A man came out of the shadow on the side of the road. This man was wrapped in a cloak. Just as he laid his hand on the bridle of the horse, Pierre straightened himself in his saddle.

"You are in too great a hurry, bandit!" he shouted, firing his pistol at the assassin at the same moment.

The man uttered a terrible cry, and then, with a superhuman effort, sprang into the wood. Pierre fired again, but this time hit nothing.

"It was a good idea of mine," he said, rubbing his chest, "to use this portfolio as a breastplate. And now, Margotte, carry me to Fribourg without further adventures!"

As Margotte obeyed the spur, her master heard the gallop of another horse dying away in the distance.

"Strange!" he said. "I could not see his face, but it seemed to me that I knew his voice when he cried out!"