With these and similar excursions of the fancy did Louis beguile their pilgrimage through the first field, though he stumbled more than once, and the weight on the Marquis’ arm grew perceptibly heavier as they proceeded. By the time they were in the second field he had dropped his banter, having obviously little breath to spare, and the two plodded slowly on in silence. “Does your shoulder pain you?” asked the Marquis suddenly, noticing his laboured breathing. “Oh, pas trop,” was the light reply, but it was given through closed teeth. Gilbert slipped his arm round the speaker. “Put your right arm round my neck,” he suggested, and with an attempt at a laugh Louis obeyed. “Your ideas are always excellent,” he said faintly. Five minutes more of slow and difficult progression brought them to their goal, a collection of scattered outhouses standing in a small and apparently deserted farmyard. Their shelter loomed before them: below, the habitat of a large hay waggon; above, a loft and granary. “Yes, but how am I going to get you up?” asked the Marquis. He had found a lantern on a peg, and was lighting it, for it was very dusk in the shed. Louis, utterly spent, leant against the upright ladder which led to the desired haven. His breath came in gasps, and the light, when it was obtained, showed the beads on his forehead. “I don’t see how you will ever get up,” repeated Château-Foix, eyeing him dubiously. Louis glanced up. “It certainly does look steep enough . . . for the path to Heaven,” he remarked with difficulty. “Perhaps . . . if you were to give me an example . . . and a little help on the way. . .” The suggestion was adopted, and by dint of a good deal of hauling the Vicomte managed to clamber on to the floor above, where, with an unfinished jest on his lips, he immediately collapsed in a second dead faint. After he had seen his face, Gilbert was only surprised that he had held out so long. The loft, not very large, was lighted by a round aperture at the farther side, and the hay was scarcely more than a carpeting to the floor, except about midway, against the wall, where it rose in an untidy pile to the roof. The Marquis, after a brief survey, lifted his insensible cousin once more in his arms, and carried him over to the other side of their refuge. As he picked up the lantern afterwards he saw that his hands were smeared with his blood. He descended into the yard, got a bucket of water from the well, and by the light of the lantern set to work to investigate the Vicomte’s injury. After a little hesitation he began with his knife carefully to cut through the collar and the coat-sleeve. Louis still lay motionless. Gilbert next attacked his shirt, but as it had stuck in one place to the wound he was obliged to pull it away, and, gently as he did it, the pain of the operation was evidently severe enough to bring Saint-Ermay out of his swoon. As he opened his eyes the Marquis paused, with a mute question in his glance.