These last did not attempt to follow, but turning their horses, together with those who had brought them such timely aid, galloped up to the spot where their master lay. When they arrived, he had again fallen into a state of apparent insensibility, and they all flocked round him with looks of eager anxiety, which seemed to speak more heartfelt interest than generally existed between the murmuring vassal and his feudal lord. One sprightly boy, who appeared to be his page, sprang like lightning from the saddle, and kneeling by his side, gazed intently on his face, as if to seek some trace of animation. "They have killed him!" he cried at length, "I fear me they have killed him!" "No, he is not dead," answered the old lady; "but I wish, Sir Page, that you would prevail on your master to open his coat, that we may staunch that deep wound in his side." "No, no! that must not be," cried the boy quickly; "but I will tie my scarf round the wound." So saying, he unloosed the rich scarf of blue and gold, that passing over his right shoulder crossed his bosom till it nearly reached the hilt of his sword, where forming a large knot it covered the bucklings of his belt. This he bound tightly over the spot in his master's side from whence the blood flowed; and then asked thoughtfully, without raising his eyes, "But how shall we carry him to St. Germain?" "In our carriage," said the young lady; "we are on our way thither, even now." The sound of her voice made the Page start, for since his arrival on the spot, he had scarcely noticed any one but his master, whose dangerous situation seemed to occupy all his thoughts: but now there was something in that sweet voice, with its soft Languedocian accent, which awakened other ideas, and he turned his full sunny face towards the lady who spoke. "Good heavens!" exclaimed she, as that glance showed her a countenance not at all unfamiliar to her memory: "Is not this Henry de La Mothe, son of our old farmer Louis?" "No other indeed, Mademoiselle Pauline," replied the boy; "though, truly, I neither hoped nor expected to see you at such a moment as this." "Then who"--demanded the young lady, clasping her hands with a look of impatient anxiety--"in the name of heaven, tell me who is this!" For an instant, and but for an instant, a look of arch meaning played over the boy's countenance; but it was like a flash of lightning on a dark cloud, lost as quickly as it appeared, leaving a deep gloom behind it, as his eye fell upon the inanimate form of his master. "That, Madam," said he, while something glistened brightly, but sadly, in his eye, "that is Claude Count de Blenau." Pauline spoke not, but there was a deadly paleness come upon her face, which very plainly showed, how secondary a feeling is general benevolence, compared with personal interest. "Is it possible?" exclaimed the elder lady, her brow darkening thoughtfully. "Well, something must be done for him."