As he had hoped, the mounting men on their left, confused, hesitated a moment, then decided to follow him and not the doubly-burdened grey. In front was the stationary, or almost stationary, cavalry, as yet only one vague bunch on the road. But, much as La Vireville would have liked to try it, he could scarcely venture to ride past or through them. He checked his horse, hoping that what he took to be a hedge on his left hand was really a hedge, and put the animal at it, somewhat expecting to land in a garden or an orchard. But, apparently, he was in a field, and a large one at that. On the grass he urged his excited horse into a frantic gallop, his blood racing not unpleasantly. Shouts told him that other horsemen had also cleared the hedge and were after him. "I wonder what I shall ride into in this cursed darkness?" he thought. And he thought also, "I did not expect she would be a woman to scream. . . ." Something black rose before him--the usual Breton field hedge, a six-foot bank with forest trees atop, impossible to negotiate on horseback. Should he then abandon his mount? He had but a second in which to make up his mind, for his pursuers, better horsed, were inevitably gaining on him. No, he would go on, and, trusting to find the échalier--the low, ladder-like gate of those parts--he cantered for a moment alongside the bank. Here, judging by the cessation of the dark mound and its crown of trees, was what he sought. He put his horse at the gap. As he rose, a spattering fire rang out; a bullet sang past his cheek, there was a most unpleasant sensation of a jerking fall, and he found himself among a great deal of wet grass, with his injured foot excruciatingly pinned beneath the weight of his struggling horse. La Vireville instinctively stuffed the back of his hand into his mouth to prevent himself from screaming out, saw all the stars of the dark heaven swoop down on him, and incontinently fainted. CHAPTER XIX LA PORTE DU MANOIR (1)