"I expect they are watching both ways," another said. "These Huguenots always seem to know what is going on, and it is likely enough that, while our people all thought that Conde was making for Germany, there was not a Huguenot throughout France who did not know he was coming west to La Rochelle; and if so, they will be moving in all directions to join him there, and that is why D'Escars has got such a force at all the bridges. I heard, from a man who came in yesterday, that the Lot is watched just as sharply, from the Garonne through Cahors right on to Espalion; and he had heard that at Agen, and along the Aveyron, the troops hold the bridges and fords as if they expected an enemy. "No doubt, as soon as they hear that Conde and his party are in La Rochelle, they will close round them and catch them in a trap. That will be as good as any other way, and save much trouble. It is a long chase to catch a pack of wolves, scattered all over the country; but one can make short work of them all, when you get them penned up in an inclosure." Philip cast a warning glance at his companions, for he felt so inclined to retort, himself, that he feared they might give way to a similar impulse. Jacques and his brother, however, were munching their bread stolidly; while Pierre was looking at the speaker, with a face so full of admiring assent to his remark, that Philip had to struggle hard to repress a laugh. "It must be owned," another of the group said, "that these wolves bite hard. I was in Paris last year, with the Count de Caussac. Well, we laughed when we saw the three parties of white wolves ride out from Saint Denis; but I tell you, there was no laughing when they got among us. We were in the Constable's troop; and though, as far as I know, we were all pretty stout men-at-arms, and were four to one against them at least, we had little to boast of when the fight was over. "At any rate, I got a mark of the wolves' teeth, which has put a stop to my hunting, as you see," and he held out his arm. "I left my right hand on the field of battle. It was in the fight round Conde. A young Huguenot--for he was smooth faced, and but a youth--shred it off with a sweeping backhanded blow, as if it had been a twig. So there is no more wolf hunting for me; but even if I had my right hand back again, I should not care for any more such rough sport as that." Philip congratulated himself that he was sitting with his back to the speaker, for he remembered the incident well, and it was his arm that had struck the blow. His visor had been up; but as his face was shaded by the helmet and cheek pieces, and the man could have obtained but a passing glance at him, he felt sure, on reflection, that he would not be recognized.