The country here was a wide horseshoe-shaped plain, fringed with a network of ravines, and rising gently towards Lencloitre. It was for the most part barren, but at intervals there were long brown and green patches of broom, the yellow tufts swaying in the breeze. Here and there the late rain had left pools of water, flashing like mirrors in the sunlight; and away to the north-west, in dark green and grey against the sky, stretched the undulating lands of higher Poitou. Far in front of me mademoiselle rode, the white feathers in her hat fluttering like a bird, and little puffs of dust rising beneath her horse's hoofs. For a moment I thought she had made good her word to Montluc--but for a moment only. Sarlaboux was right when he said I had chosen the best horse in Poitou. She was more than that--she was one of the best horses in France, and only once was she ever beaten, but it was not on this occasion. As she raced along the green of the broom, the flashing lights on the pools, and the white plain, all seemed to mingle in a grey haze. Soon I could make out more than a white plume and a cloud of dust before me. Yard by yard we crept up; and then mademoiselle heard the beat of following hoofs, and called to her horse, and the brave beast replied gallantly. But there was little use. He was no match for the big dun mare, and at last there was one effort more, and I was by Diane's side. "This is not the road, mademoiselle!" I cried; but for answer she struck her beast with her whip, and then I laughed cheerfully, and our glances met. It was enough, and in a few yards she had reined up, and the little horse she rode, still full of fire, was pawing the earth, and switching his foam-flecked sides with his tail, whilst Diane was looking at me with tightened lip and a flush on her cheeks. It was not for me to upbraid or to openly say that I had realised she had attempted to escape, and so I contented myself by remarking drily that the plain beyond was unsafe, and that there was better ground on the road to Les Barres. "I presume, monsieur, it is for that reason we have been travelling like snails? Ah! it is fine there." And she waved her hand in the direction of Miribeau as she asked: "Why not go back to your men, Monsieur Broussel, and leave me an hour of freedom?" "You are hard on your escort, mademoiselle," I smiled; "and besides, I took your look back as a challenge for a race. 'Tis a good little horse you ride." "It belongs to M. de Ganache," she answered, and I bit my lip. It seemed as if I could never be free of De Ganache; but, steadying myself, I pointed to our men, filing along the white track like ants in the distance. "It is fair going, as we know, mademoiselle, back to the road. What say you to a gallop there?"