As he spoke there came the sound of horse's hoofs. A moment later the figures of two mounted men emerged from the darkness. By some impulse, I know not what, I ran behind the Vicar and sheltered myself in the porch at his back. Carford's arrival had set my mind astir again, and new events found ready welcome. The Vicar stepped out a pace into the road with his hand over his eyes, and peered at the strangers. "What do you call this place, sir?" came in a loud voice from the nearer of the riders. I started at the voice; it had struck on my ears before, and no Englishman owned it. "It is the village of Hatchstead, at your service," answered the Vicar. "Is there an inn in it?" "Ride for half a mile and you'll find a good one." "I thank you, sir." I could hold myself in no longer, but pushed the Vicar aside and ran out into the road. The horsemen had already turned their faces towards the inn, and walked along slowly, as though they were weary. "Good-night," cried the Vicar--whether to them or to me or to all creation I know not. The door closed on him. I stood for an instant, watching the retreating form of the man who had enquired the way. A spirit of high excitement came on me; it might be that all was not finished, and that Betty Nasroth's prophecy should not bind the future in fetters. For there at the inn was Carford, and here, if I did not err, was the man whom my knowledge of French had so perplexed in the inn at Canterbury. And Carford knew Fontelles. On what errand did they come? Were they friends to one another or foes? If friends, they should find an enemy; if foes, there was another to share their battle. I could not tell the meaning of this strange conjuncture whereby the two came to Hatchstead; yet my guess was not far out, and I hailed the prospect that it gave with a fierce exultation. Nay I laughed aloud, but first knew that I laughed when suddenly M. de Fontelles turned in his saddle, crying in French to his servant: "What was that?" "Something laughed," answered the fellow in an alarmed voice. "Something? You mean somebody." "I know not, it sounded strange." I had stepped in under the hedge when Fontelles turned, but his puzzle and the servant's superstitious fear wrought on my excitement. Nothing would serve me but to play a jest on the Frenchman. I laughed again loudly. "God save us!" cried the servant, and I make no doubt he crossed himself most piously. "It's some madman got loose," said M. de Fontelles scornfully. "Come, let's get on." It was a boy's trick--a very boy's trick. Save that I set down everything I would not tell it. I put my hands to my mouth and bellowed: "_Il vient!_" An oath broke from Fontelles. I darted into the middle of the road and for a moment stood there laughing again. He had wheeled his horse round, but did not advance towards me. I take it that he was amazed, or, it may be, searching a bewildered memory.