We left Poitiers by the Porte de Rochereuil, as I had no mind to be shut within the angle between the Clain and the Vienne, whence escape would be a difficult matter if trouble arose. Whilst crossing the bridge my eyes fell on a rock on the opposite bank of the river which commanded the faubourg, and even held in check the old fortress of Jean de Berri, which guarded the junction of the Clain and Boivre on our left. I made a mental note of this, and years after I was to use this knowledge to some purpose when I stood by Coligny's side before Poitiers.

I had sent forward two of my men, with instructions to make arrangements for our accommodation for the night at Les Barres. I deemed it inadvisable to go on to ChÂtellerault, and Les Barres was a convenient halting-place, as there was no moon now, and there could be little travelling after sundown. Moreover, I wished to spare my charge as much as possible.

For these reasons we travelled at an easy pace, mademoiselle riding by herself a few yards ahead, for I confess that after a few civil words had passed between us I had taken the opportunity to fall back. This I did under pretence of giving instructions to Pierrebon, though I never spoke a word to him. Frankly, I was in a state that made me bad company, and I desired to be alone. The face of De Ganache seemed ever to be between me and Diane, and I morosely kept to myself, envying the lot of Adam, who was the only man who never had a rival, torturing myself, as is the custom with lovers, with a thousand suspicions, and cursing myself for a fool in having undertaken this task. Nevertheless, I am sure, such is the frailty of man, that were it to be all over again I would do in this matter all I had done before.

In fact, I was grasping the truth of what I had often laughed at—that there is none so skilled in making dragons out of beetles as the man who is in love and knows not if he is winning or losing.

We kept to the left bank of the Clain, taking a track that led over a sad and barren plain, once the garden of France. Except immediately around the city and the few hamlets we passed there was scarce a crop to be seen, and but for an abandoned vineyard, or here and there a solitary tree, brooding like a mourner over the dead, all was a dreary waste. There was little or no sign of life on this sullen and melancholy landscape. Occasionally we met a peasant making his way to some half-ruined hamlet, and driving before him a flock of geese with the aid of a long stick, to one end of which he had tied a plume of rags. At sight of us he, as a rule, left his birds to take care of themselves, and vanished like a rabbit into one of the ravines that cross and recross the plain in a network. And this was the King's peace in Poitou!

My troopers rode stolidly on, taking turns with the led horse, and now and again exchanging a word with each other. Pierrebon followed behind them, whistling the "Rappel d'Aunis." I kept to myself, as I have said, full of sombre thoughts, but watching mademoiselle as she rode about twenty paces or so in front of me. She never turned her head, but I observed that she was scanning the country on either side carefully.

Beyond Chasseneuil is a wide plain, and the track here meets the road to Thouars. I was looking at the slender spire of Miribeau, which stood out against the rising ground that stretched towards LencloÎtre and beyond, when I was startled by the sudden galloping of a horse. It was mademoiselle, who had turned sharply to the left, and was urging her horse at full speed towards Miribeau. We reined up amidst exclamations from the men; and the fugitive, who had got a fair distance off by this, looked back and laughed at us. It was a brave attempt at escape, and she evidently felt sure of her horse; but I had a mind to try the mettle of Montluc's gift to me, and so I told the men to go on quietly, and then, turning Lizette, followed Diane at an easy canter. As I did so, and felt the power of the long, swinging stride beneath me I smiled to myself whilst I watched the little Norman my charge rode stretching himself like a greyhound. Once more Diane looked back; and then I accepted the challenge, and gave the dun a free rein.

The country here was a wide horseshoe-shaped plain, fringed with a network of ravines, and rising gently towards LencloÎtre. It was for the most part barren, but at intervals there were long brown and green patches of broom, the yellow tufts swaying in the breeze. Here and there the late rain had left pools of water, flashing like mirrors in the sunlight; and away to the north-west, in dark green and grey against the sky, stretched the undulating lands of higher Poitou. Far in front of me mademoiselle rode, the white feathers in her hat fluttering like a bird, and little puffs of dust rising beneath her horse's hoofs. For a moment I thought she had made good her word to Montluc—but for a moment only. Sarlaboux was right when he said I had chosen the best horse in Poitou. She was more than that—she was one of the best horses in France, and only once was she ever beaten, but it was not on this occasion. As she raced along the green of the broom, the flashing lights on the pools, and the white plain, all seemed to mingle in a grey haze. Soon I could make out more than a white plume and a cloud of dust before me. Yard by yard we crept up; and then mademoiselle heard the beat of following hoofs, and called to her horse, and the brave beast replied gallantly. But there was little use. He was no match for the big dun mare, and at last there was one effort more, and I was by Diane's side.

"This is not the road, mademoiselle!" I cried; but for answer she struck her beast with her whip, and then I laughed cheerfully, and our glances met. It was enough, and in a few yards she had reined up, and the little horse she rode, still full of fire, was pawing the earth, and switching his foam-flecked sides with his tail, whilst Diane was looking at me with tightened lip and a flush on her cheeks.

It was not for me to upbraid or to openly say that I had realised she had attempted to escape, and so I contented myself by remarking drily that the plain beyond was unsafe, and that there was better ground on the road to Les Barres.

"I presume, monsieur, it is for that reason we have been travelling like snails? Ah! it is fine there." And she waved her hand in the direction of Miribeau as she asked: "Why not go back to your men, Monsieur Broussel, and leave me an hour of freedom?"

"You are hard on your escort, mademoiselle," I smiled; "and besides, I took your look back as a challenge for a race. 'Tis a good little horse you ride."

"It belongs to M. de Ganache," she answered, and I bit my lip. It seemed as if I could never be free of De Ganache; but, steadying myself, I pointed to our men, filing along the white track like ants in the distance.

"It is fair going, as we know, mademoiselle, back to the road. What say you to a gallop there?"

She accepted the check she had received with a good grace, and turning her horse raced back with the recklessness of youth. On this occasion I took care that Lizette should not be first, and when we rejoined our party Diane pointed at the mare with her whip as she laughed, for she had recovered her temper.

"I see now I should not have stopped when I did. Another mile and that big, dust-coloured thing would have been yards and yards behind; would she not, Rollo?" And she bent forward and caressed the Norman's sleek neck. I did not contradict her statement, but contented myself by saying humbly that there could be no comparison between the two horses.

"I am glad you realise that, monsieur; and we will have another race—soon, I hope."

"In that case, mademoiselle, I will not stake anything, for I am certain which horse will win." And with these words I was dropping back once more to my old place when she stayed me, asking why I did not ride by her side.

"I feared to intrude, mademoiselle; it is no longer the furrier's niece
I escort."

She turned red. "Ah, monsieur, I am ashamed of my deceit; but there are things I cannot explain now that forced me to play a part."

"Let the matter rest, mademoiselle."

"I know I must have seemed ungrateful when I left you as I did; but believe me, monsieur, I can never forget the brave man who risked his life for me." And she held out her gloved hand, allowing it to rest in mine for a moment ere she withdrew it gently.

"I did what anyone else would have done. Perhaps, however, you would like to hear that I have made such arrangements as could be made for your dead servant."

"It is like you, monsieur, to remember that." And then there was a silence. After a little she asked almost timidly:

"Monsieur, amongst the prisoners taken by M. de Montluc was the Vicomte de Ganache. I have not been able to hear news of him, and I would give much to know——"

It was ever thus: De Ganache was ever first; and I answered, without letting her complete her speech:

"M. de Ganache is no longer a prisoner; he was freed by Montluc this morning."

"Freed! Are you sure?"

"Sure as I ride here. I saw him leave Poitiers in safety."

"It is almost incredible. And yet——"

"It is true, mademoiselle. M. de Ganache is known to me, and I had speech with him before he left. He is free, I assure you."

"It is, indeed, good news, monsieur." And she looked at me, her face all brightness, as she continued, with a little laugh: "M. de Montluc is, I see, more generous to men than to women."

At this juncture our speech was cut short, as from out of the ravine before us into which the road dipped there suddenly emerged one of the troopers I had sent on ahead. As the man came galloping up to us I thought at first that he bore ill tidings, but it turned out that he had ridden back to give me news of the accommodations at Les Barres.

"I have arranged, monsieur, at the sign of the Slain Leopard, where things are as good as can be expected. There is room enough, as there are no other guests but one. I have left Capus to see that everything is ready."

Thanking the man, who fell back, we pushed on at the trot, for it was now approaching sunset. Whilst passing La Tricherie I halted for a moment to show mademoiselle the ruins of Baudimont, and pointed out to her, in the distance on our right, the field of Moussaisla-Bataille, where Charles the Hammer broke the Saracen advance for ever.

We were now but a little distance from Les Barres, and could already see the roofs of the village and the square tower of the church, all alight with the sunset. As we came closer we heard the melancholy chimes of the couvre feu, followed by the barking of dogs, and a few minutes later we reached the hostel.

Les Barres itself was an oasis in the desert around us. It lay nestling amidst groves of walnuts, and a singular chance had spared it from the evils around. As for the hostel itself, that lay far back in a trim garden, and the quaint signboard, whereon was pictured a dead leopard on a blue field—a memory of the last days of the hundred years' war—swung triumphantly between two poles near the gate.

As we filed in my charge went into feminine raptures over the beauty of the garden, with its wealth of roses; and, indeed, it was such a spot as might have been chosen for a lovers' retreat. The interior of the inn corresponded with its old-world exterior; and the host, being forewarned, had supper in readiness, and preparations made for mademoiselle's comfort. I already had some experience of my fair charge's capacity and resource, and I was determined, for her sake, to carry out my promise to Montluc. Therefore, when mademoiselle's baggage had been carried to her chamber and she herself had retired for a space, I took the opportunity to warn my men to keep on the alert. I reminded them that their reward would be in proportion to their services; but they were old soldiers, who knew their duty, and nothing more need be said of this. Pierrebon I told off specially to keep an eye on the other guest—whom we had not seen—and then took a general survey of the house as far as it was possible. With the exception of the offices and one or two rooms, the greater portion of the lower floor consisted of one large room, half across the middle of which a stairway led to the upper floor. It seemed to me the only passage above, and whilst I was looking at it, the landlord happening to pass, I asked if this were so, and he replied: "Yes."

"You could be very easily cut off, then."

He shrugged his lean shoulders. "As easily as if we had ten ways, monsieur."

"You are lucky to have escaped so far."

"Oh, monsieur, we are poor people, and not worth pillaging, and the
Vicomte has always been good to us."

"The Vicomte?"

"Yes, monsieur—the Vicomte de Ganache. He is Seigneur of Les Barres."

"I begin to understand; but I suppose you have heard that things have gone hard against M. de Ganache?"

He wrung his hands, and with a word of encouragement to him I changed the subject, and asked about the other guest. The landlord, however, professed utter ignorance of him.

"He came this morning, monsieur, and, as far as I know, goes to-morrow. He is alone, and seems poorly provided with money—and this is all I know."

There was nothing further to be done, though I had learned some things of value. As the night was warm I stepped out into the garden. It was dark, and the stars were out. High above me a light was burning faintly in a dormer window, on one side of which there was a wooden gallery overlooking the garden, and on this two figures were standing. It was too dark to see; but one was a woman, I was sure, and I was sure, too, it was mademoiselle.

For a moment I was tempted to creep beneath the balcony and—— But I put the thought aside, with a curse at myself, and turning went brooding down the garden, wondering how all this would end for me. Enough! I would do my duty—place her in the Queen's hands—and then see what Italy could do for Orrain.

A step on the gravel path, and a dark figure came face to face with me.
It was Capus, the oldest and most trusty of my troopers.

"I take the first watch, monsieur," he whispered, and passed on.

Up and down I paced for a little, and at last I heard mademoiselle's voice. She had come down, and I went back into the house.