Night found us near Drovet, as I gathered from the talk of my guards, for the country was quite unknown to me, but we left that squalid village far on the right and pressed on through the darkness for an hour longer. It seemed to me, from the uneven nature of the ground, that we must have left the road, and I was about to ask whither we were bound, when the command came to halt. I could distinguish absolutely nothing in the darkness, but my guards appeared to know the place well, and one of them, dismounting, led my horse slowly forward across what seemed to be a bridge. I caught a gleam of light ahead, and in a moment we turned a corner and I could see something of my surroundings. We were in the inner bailey of a castle, once of no little strength, but fallen quite into decay, for the curtains were cracked and ragged and broken, and two of the corner towers had toppled over. The donjon loomed up into the darkness at one end, and alone seemed to have defied the hand of time and the despoiler. Towards this we rode, and at the door my captors leaped from the saddle and helped me to dismount. I should have fallen had they not supported me, for my joints had lost the power of motion. They led me to a corner where a fire had just been started, and set me with my back against the wall. In a moment I saw them leading Fronsac in, and they set him down opposite me, one of the men taking the precaution to stand guard between. Presently the women passed, and I saw Mademoiselle smile at my companion--a smile which brought the glad blood to his cheek and in which there was life and hope. The others did not even glance in our direction, though I watched them till they had disappeared into an inner room. But a woman’s coldness could not rob me of the grateful warmth of the fire. How good it felt! My clothing was soon steaming in the heat, and I struggled to my feet and turned slowly about before the blaze in order to dry myself more thoroughly. I felt better with every minute, save for a great and growing emptiness within, for I had eaten nothing since my hasty breakfast with Fronsac at Montauban. It was perhaps half an hour before one of the men came back to us and ordered us to follow him. He led the way to the right through a doorway into a lofty room, which, shattered and time-stained as it was, retained still some traces of its former beauty. At one end was the great fireplace, and in this a fire had been kindled and two men were busily engaged preparing food. A lamb had been bought or stolen somewhere, stripped deftly of its hide, dismembered, and set to roast before the fire, and most savory and inviting did it smell. A pile of bread, nearer black than white, was heaped upon a table, and to this we were led and told to take what we wanted. A dripping piece of meat was added, and we sat down again in our warm corners to enjoy it. Even now it makes my mouth run to think of that meal and how good it tasted.