I am thus particular in describing this girl, who was a piquante little country beauty, full of queer Breton exclamations, because our acquaintance did not end here. My wound was very painful. I felt weak and light-headed; but the consciousness that other concealment was necessary made me look about for a new lurking-place. On one side of the avenue there opened a spacious lawn; on the other lay a lake, and above the embattled wall and gateway the turrets of a chateau were visible in the sunshine. In the middle of the lawn grew a thicket of shrubs or dwarf trees. My course was soon determined on--to reach the thicket and remain there concealed till nightfall, and trust the rest to Providence. I dropped from the summit of the straw-laden wain, and, passing quickly through the line of lofty trees, was about to hurry across the lawn, when I heard a shout uttered by many voices, and found myself within fifty paces of a strong party of French Hussars, who had picketed their horses near the avenue, and were quietly enjoying, _al fresco_, a meal which had no doubt been sent to them from the chateau. It was quite a military picnic, as they were all lounging on the grass, around cold pies, fowls, tarts, and bottles of wine, with their jackets open, their belts and pelisses off. So busy had they been with their jaws, that their tongues had been silent hitherto, and thus I knew nothing of a vicinity so dangerous, until it was too late to retreat. Being defenceless, my first thought was to advance confidently and surrender myself as a prisoner of war; but, on seeing that while some rushed to their holsters to procure pistols, others snatched up their sabres, with cries of-- "Down with the Englishman! _Sacré Dieu!_" "Shoot him down!" "_A bas les Anglais!_" "_Tuez_! _Tuez_! Cut him to pieces!" and so forth, I turned and fled towards the chateau, followed by the whole party, some twenty in number, on foot. Several shots were fired, but I escaped them all. I passed the wain, dashed through the gateway within which Angelique and Jacquot were still tenderly cooing and billing, and crossed the gravelled courtyard, closely pursued by the hussars, who would no doubt have immolated me there, had not a young lady who was standing on the steps of the entrance-door in conversation with a brilliant-looking cavalry officer, rushed forward and courageously and humanely interposed between them and me, with her arms outspread. "_Pardieu!_ where did you come from, _Coquin_? Cut the fellow down!" exclaimed the officer, who was the Chevalier Guillaume do Boisguiller, and in whom I recognised my antagonist of the morning--he of the white scarf, crimson ribbon, and grand cross of St. Louis. "_Ah, je vous prie_, monsieur le Chevalier--Messieurs les soldats, don't harm him, pray," cried the young lady; and then she added--"Nay, hold, I command you!" "What! you intercede for him, do you?" said the officer, with haughty surprise. "Yes--I do, monsieur."