"Yvon—Monsieur Yvon!" stammered Job, his eyes fixed in wonder, not unmixed with horror, on his young master’s face. "Monsieur Yvon! Mother of Heaven! it is impossible!" And so violent was the fear that overcame the honest fellow, that he nearly let fall the torch, and with it their safety, for the wolves, scared, as they ever are, by the light, had fled, howling with disappointment, back into the forest. "Nay," said Yvon, smiling faintly, "’tis I myself, good Job, though more in the bone than the flesh, I warrant me." "Monsieur Yvon," still repeated Job, with undiminished wonder in his eyes—"Monsieur Yvon." Then, as he realized that in some miraculous way it was indeed his beloved master who stood before him, he fell a-weeping for very joy, repeating the name over and over again, as though to convince himself of what was apparently beyond reason or understanding. "Nay, foolish fellow," cried Gwennola sharply, being in no mood just then, with nerves stretched to breaking, for idle tears. "Cease such maundering, or wait till fitter time and place to give vent to thy joy. Wouldst have tears verily to take the place of laughter by delaying, when—when——" She broke off abruptly, adding in a lower key, "And Monsieur d’Estrailles?—the French knight—what of him? Nay, stand not gaping, there, as if thou awaitest the moon to swallow thee up, as she did poor Pierre Laroc, but take the arm of Monsieur Yvon, who is weak, as thou seest. There, support him well, good Job, and let us hasten onwards whilst thou tellest me." Her heart beat fast as she waited, all eagerly, for the answer which she so dreaded to know that she was fain to stop her ears or fly from hearing into the forest. But Job’s wits were still astray for very joy and wonder, as he felt Yvon’s gaunt form lean against his stout arm, and read recognition in the great blue eyes, which had stared so despairingly into his, scarce a week back, from the forest shade. It was not till Gwennola had impatiently repeated her question that the former events of that strange night came back to his slowly revolving brain. "The French knight?" he repeated. "Ah, yes, mademoiselle, it was Marie herself who sent me in search of you, because, forsooth! it would seem you had gone to bid farewell to one in the forest who came instead, but sorely against his will, to the château to bid farewell to life." "How chanced it? How came he thither? Who discovered his hiding-place? Nay, thou shalt not tell me he is already sped," cried Gwennola passionately.