thicket her ravisher had been aiming for from the first. His heart sank within him, and he staggered as he still ran feebly on—feeling now the effects of his superhuman exertions, and fearing at each step that his feet would carry him no farther. He was soon overtaken by Hérode and Scapin, who, alarmed by the pistol shot, and fearing that something was wrong, had started in hot pursuit, though the lackey who served them as guide had done all that he possibly could to hinder them, and in a few faltering words he told them what had occurred. “Vallombreuse again!” cried the tyrant, with an oath. “But how the devil did he get wind of our expedition to the Château de Pommereuil? or can it be possible that it was all a plot from the beginning, and we are bound on a fool’s errand? I really begin to think it must be so. If it is true, I never saw a better actor in my life than that respectable old major-domo, confound him! But let us make haste and search this grove thoroughly; we may find some trace of poor Isabelle; sweet creature that she is! Rough old tyrant though I be, my heart warms to her, and I love her more tenderly than I do myself. Alas! I’m afraid, that this poor, innocent, little fly is caught in the toils of a cruel spider, who will take care never to let us get sight of her again.” “I will crush him,” said de Sigognac, striking his heel savagely on the ground, as if he actually had the spider under it. “I will crush the life out of him, the venomous beast!” and the fierce, determined expression of his usually calm, mild countenance showed that this was no idle threat, but that he was terribly in earnest. “Look,” cried Hérode, as they dashed through the thicket, “there they are!”