We stood thus for a second, and then a short mirthless 'Ha! ha!' burst from de Gomeron, and he made a turn to the corner of the room where his rapier leaned against the wall. It was at the moment of this action that we heard the quick challenge of the sentry outside, the password as sharply answered, and the tramp of feet. The same idea flashed through both our minds--it must be the General, and de Gomeron gave expression to the thought. '_Corbleu!_ de Rone perhaps--the old bat on the wing. We must defer the lesson, Chevalier.' I bowed and bit my lips in silence; there followed a shuffling of feet, and before a man could count two, Nicholas, the sergeant of our picket, with a file of men entered the hut, thrusting a couple of prisoners, a man and a woman, before them. 'Two birds from La Fere, my captain,' and Nicholas with a salute to de Gomeron pointed to his prize. 'We took them,' he ran on, 'at the ford near the Red Mill, and but for the moon they would have gone free; spies no doubt. The old one is M. le Mouchard, I swear. There is fox in every line of his face; and as for Madame there--so the old gentleman calls her--in time I warrant she will learn to love the camp of the Holy League,' and the sergeant pushed the lantern so that it shone full on the lady's face. A curious light came into de Gomeron's eyes as he looked at her, and she shrank back at the sergeant's words and action, whilst the old man strained at the cords that bound his wrists till the lines of the blue veins stood high out on his forehead. The soldiers had shown Madame this kindness, that she was unbound; but her hood had fallen back, loosening in its fall a mass of chestnut hair, and from this framework her eyes glanced from one to another of us, half in fear and half in anger. 'Messieurs!' There was a tremble in the sweet voice, and there was light enough to see her colour come and go. 'Messieurs! That man,' she made a little gesture of infinite disdain towards Nicholas, 'is lying. We are no spies. It is true we are from La Fere, but all that we did was to try and escape thence----' 'To the camp of the Bearnais--eh, madame?' interrupted de Gomeron. 'To the camp of the King of France,' she flashed back at him, a red spot rising on each cheek. 'Messieurs!' she went on, 'you are gentlemen, are you not? You will let us go. Surely the Holy League wars not with women and old men?' The mention of the League stirred her companion and he gave tongue: