The Count coloured to the roots of his hair. He thought that Esperance had not heard, but he met her contrite glance, full of gratitude. With Genevieve's help she washed the little fellow, who was very docile, sniffing with pleasure the "good smell" of these ladies. Bathed, combed, in his new clothes, he was a darling. "I don't know you any longer, little boy. Who are you?" chuckled the old woman. And she kissed the child, saying, "On Sunday, we will go to Mass, you will be as fine as the other little boys." She saw all her visitors to the door, and when Esperance jumped on her horse, "You aren't afraid up there? You know horses aren't exactly treacherous, but they are uncertain, and then these dreadful flies make them wild. _Au revoir_, Madame; my good gentlemen, thank you. Good luck, Mam'zelle." The four riders returned together. Passing the little village of Debers, they had to stop; a big hay wagon barred the way. The peasant who was driving was abominably drunk. He swore and struck his horses and jerked them violently towards the ditch. Maurice ordered him to make way. He laughed foolishly and swore at them insultingly. Maurice and the Count started forward, and the peasant menaced them with the scythe resting on the seat beside him. In a flash Albert leapt from his horse, threw the reins to Maurice, and went straight to the drunkard. The fellow tried to brandish his scythe, but already Albert had wrenched it from him and threw it aside. Then seizing the man, he pulled him down on his knees and held him there until he begged for pardon. The rustic, suddenly sobered, and raging with impatience, paid in full the apologies exacted by the Count, before he was allowed to get up. Jean, during this contest, had led the horses out of their way. The driver, pale with fury, swung his whip at large and it struck Esperance's horse. The poor beast, mad with fright, took the bit between his teeth and started out on a dizzy run. Albert saw at a glance the only possible way to stop his course. "Go to the left and cut across the road," he cried, "I'll take the right." And he put his horse across the fields. Esperance's horse did not follow the bend of the road as Styvens had expected. Blinded by fright, it made straight ahead towards the cliffs. Once on the rocks, there was the precipice and certain death. The Count's horse leapt as if it understood what it had to do. The Count came up just as Esperance lost her seat and fell with one foot caught in the stirrup. Her lovely blonde hair swept the earth. Twenty yards more and that exquisite little head would be crashed upon the rocks. With a desperate effort, Albert by spurring his horse furiously was able to reach her horse's head, seize him by the bridle and swing himself to the ground.