Rapid as this fall had been, Louise had seen some shadows pass like the wind behind the trees. She had heard a terrible voice, that of Divès, shout: "Forward! Stab, stab!" It was but a vision, one of those confused apparitions such as pass before our eyes at our last hour; but as she arose, no doubt remained in the poor girl's mind; a sharp conflict was raging at twenty paces from her, behind a ridge of trees, and Marc was shouting lustily: "Courage, lads! no quarter!" Then she saw a dozen Cossacks climbing up the opposite side of the mountain, through the bushes, like hares, and above, in the broad light of the moon, Yégof crossing the valley at his utmost speed, like a frightened bird. Several shots were sent after him, but the fool escaped them all, and, drawing himself up to his full height in his spurs, he turned round, brandishing his lance with a defiant air, and uttering a loud hurrah in the shrill tone of a heron who has just escaped from the talons of the eagle, and wings his rapid flight through the air. Two shots were again sent after him from the keeper's house; something, a shred of his rags, detached itself from the person of the fool, who continued his way, repeating his hurrahs in a hoarse accent while scaling the path his comrades had taken. And all this vision disappeared as in a dream. Then Louise turned round; Catherine was standing beside her, not less dumfounded, but not less watchful. They looked at each other for a moment, and then threw themselves into each other's arms with a feeling of inexpressible relief. "We are saved!" murmured Catherine. And, woman-like, they both began to cry. "You have behaved bravely," said the farm-mistress--"well, very well. Jean-Claude, Gaspard, and I, we may be proud of you." Louise was agitated by such profound emotion that she trembled from head to foot. The danger past, her own gentle nature regained the ascendancy; she was at a loss to account for the courage she had just shown. In another moment, finding themselves a little recovered, they were preparing to climb back into the road, when they saw five or six of the mountaineers and the doctor coming to look after them. "Ah! it's no use for you to cry, Louise," said Lorquin; "you are a dragon, a right-down imp. Now, your heart's in your mouth to look at you, but we all saw you at work. And, by-the-bye, my pistols--where are they?" At this moment there was a rustling among the bushes, and the tall form of Marc Divès appeared, sword in hand, while he exclaimed: "Holloa! Dame Catherine; those are rough adventures. A thousand thunders! what a lucky chance that I should happen to be there! Those beggars would rifle you from head to foot!" "Yes," said the old farm-mistress, pushing her gray hair under her cap, "it is most fortunate."