“My poor old mill!” cried Benoit, in a despairing voice. “I shall never behold it again!” “Cheer up, father,” said Madelon. “I told Hugues to set fire to it--indeed, I helped him.” “What! you have assisted to make me a beggar, and then bid me cheer up!” cried the miller. “The loss of the mill won't make you a beggar, father. I know better than that,” she rejoined. “I felt sure you wouldn't mind any sacrifice to save the Duke de Bourbon.” “That I shouldn't!” exclaimed Benoit. “But how will the burning of my mill save him? Mercy on us! how the flames roar!” “I like to hear them roar,” said Madelon. “And I'm glad the fire burns so furiously. It will distract the soldiers, and enable the Constable and the Seigneur Pom-perant to get off unobserved.” “Heavens! they are not in the mill?” exclaimed Margot. “No, they are at the stable, I hope, by this time,” rejoined Madelon. “How lucky it was, Hugues, that I shut up the dogs!” “If we can only get out the horses, all will be well,” he replied. “I must be off to the stable. Good night, père Benoit! I hope soon to bring you good tidings.” “You can get away safely now,” said Madelon, cautiously opening the back window. “There is no one here now, and the smoke will hide you.” Despite the danger, Hugues snatched a parting kiss from his charmer's lips, and then sprang through the window. The burning mill formed a magnificent spectacle, being now wrapped in flames from top to bottom, while blazing flakes fell from the sails. Having highly combustible material to deal with, the fire had made rapid progress. Fortunately the dense volume of smoke that arose from the blazing structure was carried by the wind in the direction of the stable, and the vapour served to screen Hugues from the observation of the men-at-arms, who were all collected round the mill. Amongst them Hugues descried Warthy, and heard him exclaim, in a loud and angry voice, that he was certain Bourbon was not in the mill. “Had he and his companion been there, they must have come forth,” he said. “They would never submit to be roasted alive.” Not a moment was to be lost. Hugues hurried off to the stable, and was rejoiced to find, on reaching it, that Bourbon and Pomperant were already mounted. His own horse was also in readiness, and he was no sooner in the saddle than the party galloped off. They had not ridden far, however, when a loud shout, proceeding from the scene of the conflagration, proclaimed that their flight was discovered. Warthy and his men were starting in pursuit. Sounds also arose from the little town of Saint-Simphorien, proving that its inhabitants had been roused from their slumbers by the alarm of fire, while the loud clangour of a church bell, violently rung, broke the stillness of the night. “Poor Benoit will have plenty of help in case his house should catch fire,” remarked Hugues. “All the good folks of Saint-Simphorien will be with him presently.”