The Marquis went silently to his saddlebags and produced their contents. Louis talked throughout the brief meal which followed with his accustomed spirits. Château-Foix said very little. The minutes were slipping away, and he wished with all his heart that he could draw Trenchard aside to give him the letter to Lucienne, but it was impossible to do it without attracting Saint-Ermay’s attention. The idea that Louis would know all the time his purpose in doing so was insupportable to him. Sooner than that he would deliver his commission in front of him. It was what he had to do in the end. Somewhat reluctantly the three led their horses out of the little wood. The upland was astir with the breath of a new morning. Trenchard’s way lay south-west; and to join his road, whose signpost rose against the sky half a mile away, ran a bridle path among the gorse. He mounted slowly; the others stood by their horses in front of him. “I wish, by George, that this was not good-bye,” he said with real feeling. “I can’t make speeches, you know . . . but I’m deuced grateful to you both. If there’s ever anything I can do I hope you will command me. Ah, by the way, M. de Château-Foix, what about taking a message from you to Sir William Ashley?” Gilbert paled a little. “I mean to take advantage of your kind offer,” he said, slipping his hand inside his coat. “I will ask you to convey this letter, not to Sir William himself, but to Mademoiselle Lucienne d’Aucourt, my affianced wife, who is at present under his care.” “I shall be only too much honoured,” replied Trenchard, with an inclination. “You will be putting me under a great obligation,” said Gilbert. He glanced mechanically at the letter as he held it, address uppermost. Louis, leaning against his horse’s neck, was looking away into the distance, and only his profile was visible. His air of unconcern stung the Marquis, in some inexplicable fashion, more sharply than any display of the vital interest he knew it to conceal. The constraint that he had been putting on himself snapped suddenly, like an overdrawn bow. “You have perhaps a message to send her too?” he said, launching the words at his cousin like a missile. The second that they were out of his mouth he would have given all that he possessed to recall them. He saw, or thought he saw, Trenchard’s eyebrows go up, and the color ebb from Louis’ face as he turned sharply round and faced him. He had himself in hand again in a moment, and with a control immeasurably stronger for his outburst. “My cousin and I were both brought up with Mademoiselle d’Aucourt,” he said to Trenchard with some sacrifice of accuracy. The same ease was apparent in his tone as he turned to the Vicomte and repeated his question. Louis had had time to collect himself, as he was meant to have. He forced a smile.