He went to the spot where we had lain and picked up the pieces of rope. A sharp cry escaped him as he looked at them. “Well?” asked Roquefort angrily. “What new surprise?” “See, Monsieur,” cried Drouet, holding out the rope-ends. “He did not get loose of himself. Some one came, cut the ropes, and freed him.” For a moment Roquefort gazed at the ropes without speaking, but his face, when he raised it to mine, was terrible. “A traitor!” he said. “A traitor here!” and he looked about him with eyes that sent a shiver through his men. “Oh, but some one shall pay for this! You shall tell us, Monsieur, who it was that cut your bonds and then you will have a companion on the rack. What a death! I could find it in my heart to pity you, Monsieur, did I not hate you so!” He stood yet a moment looking at me, then turned away, and I heard a murmur from the crowd at the door. “To horse!” he cried. “Bind these two rogues to the saddle! Bring forth the women!” In an instant all was confusion. Drouet and another led me away, out into the black court, through a crowd of sweating horses and cursing men-at-arms, to the place where our mounts were stabled. Again I was seated in the saddle, and a rope passed from ankle to ankle beneath the horse’s belly. Drouet laughed savagely as he tied the last knot. “There, my brave,” he said, “I’ll warrant you’ll stay with us yet a little longer.” I had not the heart to retort, but sat silent while the troop fell into line again. I strained my eyes through the darkness for a glimpse of Fronsac or the women, but saw no sign of either. At last came the word to march, and we set off slowly through the night. No road, this time, but what seemed rough hill-land, so slowly did we pick our way. Drouet was in a savage mood, reflecting, doubtless, that had I escaped he must have suffered for it, and did what he could to make my position irksome by leading my mount over the roughest places and pricking him suddenly from time to time. Dawn found us in a narrow valley with a little brook singing through. Far ahead I could see the peaks of the Pyrenees, nearer than the day before, but still leagues away. In the midst of a little grove of trees the word came to dismount, and the men swung themselves wearily from the saddle. It was easy to see that they had been hard pressed. Their horses were almost done; yes, and the stains upon their clothing were not wholly those of the road, for some carried their arms in slings, some had their heads bandaged, some clung to the saddle with convulsive fingers, their lips purple, their eyes set with suffering. So there had been a battle, and M. le Comte had won! I remembered his concern to keep his horses fresh and looked back over the way we had come in the wild hope that I might see him in pursuit, but I saw only the bleak hillside, the barren rocks, the strip of woodland.