It was useless to follow, though I rode a few yards after him, and then, restraining myself, I pulled round and came back. Then I heard a voice thank me, and Pierrebon appeared at my horse's head, as though he had dropped from the clouds, and as I dismounted he burst forth: "Now, praise to St. Hugo of Orrain! We have defeated the bandits." CHAPTER VII DIANE Man of the world and of many experiences as I was; old courtier, who had seen the fairest of my land in the galleries of the Tournelles, or the salons of the Louvre, I confess that I had never seen so graceful a figure, or heard so sweet a voice as that which thanked me now. As for her, when I stepped up, my sword still in my hand, some thought that she had only escaped the beak of the vulture to feel the talons of the hawk made her shrink back into silence. I felt this, and, bowing, said gravely: "There is no danger now, mademoiselle. I doubt if our friends will return; but I fear it is far to any refuge to-night." My words had effect. She was brave enough, and she answered: "We are not far from the Mable, monsieur!" "From the Mable! Then Marcay is behind?" "About six miles." "Ah! I thought we had overridden ourselves. And Richelieu is at hand?" "'Tis but a bare league." "Then in two hours at most we will be there. You will, of course, ride my horse, and Pierrebon and I will share the other." "Thank you!" she said simply. And then with an effort, as she pointed before her: "Monsieur, there is a man lying there who gave up his life for me. I cannot leave him thus." And Pierrebon answered: "There are two, lady. I have covered them with their cloaks, for they are both dead." "A moment," I said, and I too went and looked at the twain. There was no mistake. For these two the trees and the sky, the good and the bad of the world had ceased to be; and as I pulled their cloaks over their faces I muttered to myself, with a remembrance of the course of "The Philosophy": "_Maximum vitae bonum mors_." Then I came back to the lady's side. "Mademoiselle, for these two lying there, the honest man and the knave, what can be done at present has been done. Come, I pray you! It grows late." "Oh, but I cannot!" And she too went forward to where the long dark things lay stretched out on the sward, and shrinking, she looked, and then on a sudden she sank on her knees, and prayed, and because, whatever had happened, I had never lost my faith in God, without whom we are nothing, I knelt too, and Pierrebon with me, and in our own way we each sought comfort. After a while mademoiselle rose again, and with a voice half choked with tears, said: "Monsieur, I am ready." We placed her on my brown horse, which Pierrebon led, I riding his, and so we took our way in silence--a silence now and again broken by a sob from the girl. I said nothing, deeming it wiser to let her be with her thoughts; but as we came to the skirts of the wood I spoke: