Tears gushed from my eyes as I thought of the cruelty of destiny, which had sustained me so far in order to betray me at the end. I took the letter from my doublet, and held it ready to tear into pieces should I indeed be caught. Although Marguerite was thought to have secrets with the Duke of Guise, it was likely that she would not wish him to know what she might write to her husband, whose political ally she always was. And now my horse dropped its head lower at each bound forward. The seven horses behind showed no sign of tiring. "Thank God, I kept my sword! I can kill one of them, at least!" I no longer looked back. Blindly forward I went, impelled only to defer the end to the last possible moment. God knew what might yet intervene. Suddenly my horse gave a snort of pain, stumbled blindly, and fell to his knees. He slid forward a short distance, carried on by his impetus, and then turned over on his side, and lay quivering. I had taken my feet from the stirrups at his stumble, so that I now stood over his body. I heard the loud clank of the hoofs behind. I stepped over the horse, and drew my sword. A short distance ahead was a clump of scrubby pines; there I would turn and make my stand. Then was the time when I might have torn up the letter, had I not suddenly forgotten my intention. I held it clutched in my hand, mechanically, as I ran. I was conscious of only one thing,--that death was bearing down on me. The sound of the horses' footfalls filled my ears. Louder and louder came that sound, drowning even the quick panting of my breath. Again came that aching in the side, that intolerable pain which I had felt in my flight from Paris. I pressed my hand to my side, and plunged forward. Suddenly the road seemed to rise and strike me in the face. I had fallen prostrate, and now lay half-stunned on the earth. I had just time to turn over on my back, that I might face my pursuers, when the foremost horse came up. "Well, my man," cried the rider, in a quick, nervous voice, as I looked stupidly up at his short, sturdy figure, hooked nose, keen eyes, black hair and beard, and shrewd, good-natured face, "did you think the devil was after you, that you ran so hard? _Ventre Saint Gris_! You would make an excellent courier." "I am a courier," I answered, trying to rise. "I ran so fast that I might soon reach Nerac with this letter for your majesty." And I held the letter out to King Henri of Navarre. CHAPTER VII. HOW HE ANNOYED MONSIEUR DE LA CHATRE I had never seen Henri of Navarre, before, but had often heard him described, and no other man exactly fitted his description. His favorite oath confirmed my recognition. He took the letter, saying, "It looks as if it had been through fire and flood." "I had to swim the Seine with it," I said. He read it, sitting on his horse in the middle of the road, I standing beside the horse, the other six riders eyeing me curiously.