"No, no," replied the Count. "My good friends," he added, turning to the band, "pray offer these good gentlemen no wrong, at least till my return. Perhaps I can hit upon some terms between you and them, and also tell you a piece of news which will make you change your determination." "Not easily," said the leader; "but we will not harm them till you come back, if you are only going to take the ladies to the carriage. You, Stephen, drive it to the place where the lackeys were left." "I will return instantly," said the Count, and he led the younger lady on, the elder following. Till they reached the carriage, and during a part of the time occupied in tying the horses again to it, all were silent; but at length the younger lady ventured to say, in a low voice,-- "How can I ever thank you, Monsieur de Morseiul?" The Count did not reply to the question, but he said, as he was handing her in,-- "Am I not right? Have we not met before?" "It is years ago," she said, in the same low tone; "but," she added the moment after, just as the man was about to drive away, "we shall meet again, and if we do, say nothing of this meeting, I beseech you; but remember only that I am deeply grateful." The carriage drove away, and the Count remained for a moment listening. He then returned to the mixed group by the fire, where the agitation of terror in the case of the Abbé de St. Helie had worked itself up to such a pitch during his absence, that the tears were streaming copiously from the unhappy man's eyes, while the band that had made him a captive stood round gazing upon him with some contempt, but certainly no appearance of pity. Pelisson, on his part, displayed a greater degree of firmness, remaining with his hands clasped together, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, but without any other sign of fear than some paleness of his countenance, and an occasional movement of the lips, as if he were in prayer. The Count advanced into the midst of the group, and perceiving that the leader of the band into whose hands they had fallen looked to him to speak first, and maintained a sort of dogged silence which augured but ill for the two ecclesiastics, he said, "Now, my good friend, what do you intend to do with these gentlemen?" "I intend," replied the man in a stern tone, "to shoot the two that are standing there without fail, to scourge that black-faced priest by the carriage till he has not a bit of skin on his back, and send the lackeys trooping." "You are of course jesting," said the Count. "You are not a man, I am sure, to commit deliberate murder. But you have frightened them enough.--Let me hear what you intend to do, without a jest."