We had proceeded in this way about a mile, and the sound of the hunt had quite died away behind us, and I was beginning to chafe, as well as marvel, at conduct so singular, when at last I saw that he was slackening his pace. My horse, which was on the point of failing, began, in turn, to overhaul his, while I looked out with sharpened curiosity for the object of pursuit. I could see nothing, however, and no one; and had just satisfied myself that this was one of the droll freaks in which he would sometimes indulge, and that in a second or two he would turn and laugh at my discomfiture, when, on a sudden, with a final pull at the reins, he did turn, and showed me a face flushed with passion and chagrin. I was so taken aback that I cried out. "MON DIEU! sire," I said. "What is it? What is the matter?" "Matter enough!" he cried, with an oath. And on that, halting his horse, he looked at me as if he would read my heart. "VENTRE DE SAINT GRIS!" he said, in a voice that made me tremble, "if I were sure that there was no mistake, I would--I would never see your face again!" I uttered an exclamation. "Have you not deceived me?" quoth he. "Oh, sire, I am weary of these suspicions!" I answered, affecting an indifference I did not feel. "If your Majesty does not--" But he cut me short. "Answer me!" he said harshly, his mouth working in his beard and his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Have you not deceived me?" "No, sire!" I said. "Yet you have told me day by day that Madame de Conde remained in Brussels?" "Certainly!" "And you still say so?" "Most certainly!" I answered firmly, beginning to think that his passion had turned his brain. "I had despatches to that effect this morning." "Of what date?" "Three days gone. The courier travelled night and day." "They may be true, and still she may be here to-day?" he said, staring at me. "Impossible, sire!" "But, man, I have just seen her!" he cried impatiently. "Madame de Conde?" "Yes, Madame de Conde, or I am a madman!" Henry answered, speaking a little more moderately. "I saw her gallop out of the patch of rocks at the end of the Dormoir--where the trees begin. She did not heed the line of the hounds, but turned straight down the boxwood ride; and, after that, led as I followed. Did you not see her?" "No, sire," I said, inexpressibly alarmed--I could take it for nothing but fantasy--"I saw no one." "And I saw her as clearly as I see you," he answered. "She wore the yellow ostrich-feather she wore last year, and rode her favourite chestnut horse with a white stocking. But I could have sworn to her by her figure alone; and she waved her hand to me." "But, sire, out of the many ladies riding to-day--" "There is no lady wearing a yellow feather," he answered passionately. "And the horse! And I knew her, man! Besides, she waved to me! And, for the others--why should they turn from the hunt and take to the woods?"