For answer Louis began to scramble to his feet. “My shoulder may be impaired, my dear Gilbert,” he retorted, “but my legs at least are sound.” He got to them as he spoke, but their condition was evidently by no means as unimpeachable as he had stated. “I thought as much,” said the Marquis, putting an arm round him. “It is obvious that I shall have to carry you again if you do not move less violently.” “Very well,” responded Louis submissively. “But it is nothing; I am only a little giddy; I can walk quite well.” Nevertheless he hastily put out his hand to a tree-trunk as Gilbert loosed his hold and stooped to pick up his coat. “And how far is it, this refuge of yours?” he enquired, as, with the assistance of his cousin’s arm, he made his way through the gap in the hedge. “About two fields off; but we had better skirt round by the hedges for fear of being seen. It is a hayloft, and the owner will ask no questions.” “Estimable man!” commented Saint-Ermay. “It happens to be a woman,” observed the Marquis, as they emerged into the open field. The Vicomte was delighted. “I might have known it!” he exclaimed. “Is she pretty? How did you work on her feelings, Gilbert? I have always said that if you _would_ condescend . . . (No, if I am not breaking your arm it is quite enough, thanks.) Did you give her a kiss? Mon Dieu, what I have missed!” “For Heaven’s sake, be quiet!” urged Château-Foix. “It is no time for laughing. No, I did not kiss her—I should have been afraid. She is a middle-aged proprietress with a tongue, and she will allow me and the friend who has met with an accident to sleep in her loft. She asks no questions, and if we are taken, we are tramps who have sought refuge there without her knowledge. She has no servants.” “Excellent!” said the Vicomte gaily. “You are a general and a diplomat thrown away. Still, your success remains unexplained. I am sure you must have whispered soft nothings of some sort to her. Or perhaps you bullied her; some like it, I believe. Commend me, after all, to you impervious men for managing a woman!” “We are certainly lucky,” rejoined the Marquis, ignoring these remarks, “always supposing that she does not denounce us.” “Denounce us! My dear Gilbert, you are too modest. It is evident to me that you have inspired _une grande passion_, one of those great loves of antiquity or romance. Denounce us! You may be sure that the lady will be cut in pieces rather than betray your hiding-place—in fact, after the usual fashion of heroines, she will probably have you down from your loft, push you behind the curtains in her own chaste apartment, and lock the door. The minions of the . . . of the nation arrive; you know the scene . . . outraged modesty . . . ‘Ruffians, respect at least my bedchamber! Do you dare to suggest that there is a man in there!’ . . . Delicious! I only hope it may come to that, provided I witness it.”