Our road for a time lay through the wide valley of the river, and as we swung onward I sat erect in the saddle and drank in great draughts of the cool air--so sweet, so pure, such as one finds only here in Gascony. It was good to be alive, in such gallant company, with promise of hard blows and, perchance, glory at the end. I stole a glance at Fronsac, not doubting that he shared my exultation, and was astonished to see him riding with rein loose and head bent and eye lack-lustre. He surprised my glance and smiled as he looked at me. “The question, my friend,” he said, “is, shall we be in time?” I did not answer. I confess I did not wish the adventure to end so speedily and tamely. Besides, I had a great desire to see for myself the Duc de Roquefort’s stronghold in the Pyrenees, for I had heard it was worth seeing. “When was it you left Marsan?” he asked after a moment. “At midnight on the twenty-fourth.” “And this is the twenty-seventh. On the morning of the twenty-fifth, doubtless, the Duc de Roquefort left his seat at Marleon and started for M. le Comte’s château. By pushing his horses he might have reached Caumont that night. By evening of yesterday he should have been at Drovet, and he may get to the château by noon to-day. If he has carried out this programme, we shall be too late.” “But, Monsieur,” I protested, “it may be that he did not set out from Marleon until the twenty-sixth, or some accident may have happened to delay him. Besides, he could not have gone by the direct route, since he was penetrating the country of M. le Comte’s allies. He must keep his march secret, or run the risk of being taken prisoner. It is only by great diligence that he could reach the château to-day.” “True,” assented my companion gloomily, “yet the Duc de Roquefort is always diligent--else he would not have dared undertake this expedition. He is a great gambler, ready to stake his head on the turn of a card. Some day he will lose, but it seems this time that he must win.” “Grant that he does reach the château at noon to-day,” I said, “still, even with only thirty men, Madame la Comtesse should be able to hold out against him for some hours--and five or six hours are all that we shall need.” “True,” and my companion nodded again, “Madame is not the woman to yield the château without a struggle. But what if she be surprised, if she be not expecting an assault, if the gates be open--what then, Monsieur?” “Then,” I cried boldly, “we will spur after them, even to their castle in the Pyrenees! M. le Comte himself hath said it!” But Fronsac shook his head. “You have never visited Marleon, have you, M. de Marsan?” he asked. “No, Monsieur, I have never been farther south than Lembeye.”