When Bois-Doré passed on the left of the escort, Guillaume did not recognize him in his military costume; but D'Alvimar recognized him by the throbbing of his agitated heart; and old Sancho, warned by a similar sensation, rode nearer to him. Their anxiety was dispelled when Bois-Doré rode on without speaking to them. They concluded then that it was not he. But when he drew rein and wheeled about with his horse's head almost touching theirs, they glanced at each other and instinctively drew close together. "What does this mean, monsieur?" said Guillaume, taking one of his pistols from the holster at his saddlebow. "Who are you and what do you want?" But before Bois-Doré had time to reply, a pistol was discharged between them, and the ball grazed the marquis's cap, as he, seeing Sancho's movement to murder him, hastily stooped, crying: "It is I, Guillaume!" "Ten thousand devils!" cried Guillaume in dismay; "who fired on the marquis? In heaven's name, marquis, are you hit?" "Not a scratch," replied Bois-Doré; "but I must say that you have some vile hounds in your party, to fire on a single man before they know whether he is friend or foe!" "You are right, and I will do justice on them instantly," rejoined the wrathful young man. "Miserable knaves, which of you fired on the best man in the realm?" "Not I! nor I! nor I! nor I!" cried Monsieur d'Ars's four servants with one voice. "No, no!" said the marquis, "none of these honest fellows would have done such a thing. I saw the man who fired the shot, and there he is!" As he spoke, Bois-Doré, with a dexterity, agility and force worthy of his best days, struck Sancho across the face with his whip, and, as the assassin put his hands to his eyes, he seized him by the collar, and, dragging him from his saddle, threw him to the ground and lashed his horse, which galloped away and disappeared in the direction of Briantes. At the same instant the marquis's four men, disregarding his orders to await a summons from him, rode up at full speed, with Adamas, in whom the report of the pistol and the sight of the flying horse had aroused the keenest anxiety. "Ah! here you are," said the marquis. "Very good; pick up yonder unhorsed cavalier; he belongs to me, as I have the _droit d'épave_[22] on this road. He is my prisoner. Bind him; there is reason to distrust his hands." [Footnote 22: That is to say, the right of the lord of the manor to claim all property found on his domain, to which nobody can prove title.] XXXI While the colossal charioteer, Aristandre, bound Sancho's hands--he was still dazed by his fall--and stripped him of his arms, D'Alvimar emerged at last from the stupor caused by this swiftly enacted scene. For an instant he had thought of abandoning his ill-omened confederate to Bois-Doré's wrath; but when he saw him treated so roughly because he had once more risked his life for him, a remnant of pride and shame compelled him to remonstrate.