As they ran they saw Madame Pignoux and her servant also making their escape. Those two old women made their hearts ache. But to call them would be to destroy them and themselves with them. They were running across the fields, apparently heading for some hiding place known to them as a place of safety. The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré leaped upon their horses. They were very careful not to descend the Terrier by the road, but took one of the narrow paths, bordered by tall blackthorns, which wind about between the fields. The battle of the _reitres_ might end abruptly at any moment. They were well mounted and able to follow close upon their prey; but the light gallop of Rosidor and Coquet made little noise on the wet earth, and as the path they were following was constantly intersected by others, the pursuers would have to separate to overtake them. The first and most essential thing was to gain ground; so the Bois-Dorés thought of nothing at first but throwing the enemy off the scent by plunging at random into that labyrinth of muddy paths, which became blinder and blinder as they approached the valley. After about ten minutes of hard riding, the marquis drew rein and bade Mario do likewise. "Halt!" he said, "and open your sharp ears. Are we pursued?" Mario listened, but the hard breathing of his breathless horse prevented him from hearing well. He dismounted, walked away a few steps and returned. "I can hear nothing," he said. "So much the worse!" said the marquis; "they have finished fighting and they must be thinking of us. Mount again quickly, my boy, and let us ride on. We must succeed in reaching Brilbault, where our friends and servants are." "No, father, no," said Mario, who was already in the saddle. "There is no one left at Brilbault now. We must ride to Briantes by the cross-road. Oh! please don't hesitate, father, and be sure that I am right. I am perfectly certain of what I say." Bois-Doré yielded without understanding. It was no time for discussion. They rode in a straight line toward the hamlet of Lacs, through the great grain-growing tract which, as it all belonged to the seignioral estate of Montlevy, was not, at that time, cut up into many smaller parcels enclosed by hedges. Our fugitives rode half the distance without seeing any bands of mounted men on the road, which they followed on a parallel line at a distance of two or three gun-shots. To the marquis's mind this was a bad sign. The quarrel among the _reitres_ could not have been prolonged until then. As soon as the Germans discovered that Macabre was not being assassinated, but was simply locked into the room because of drunkenness, the whole trouble would subside, and La Proserpine was not the woman to forget the prisoners, for whom she hoped to obtain a substantial ransom, if nothing more.