As I lay there, my eye caught sight of a cloud of dust on the road. For a moment I scanned it eagerly, and then fell back with a curse of disappointment. It was caused by a man on a horse--and the man was not the duke. But in an instant I was sitting up again--for as the rider drew nearer, trotting briskly along, his form and air was familiar to me; and when he came opposite to me, I sprang up and ran out to meet him, crying out to him: "Gustave! Gustave!" It was Gustave de Berensac, my friend. He reined in his horse and greeted me--and he greeted me without surprise, but not without apparent displeasure. "I thought I should find you here still," said he. "I rode over to seek you. Surely you are not at the duchess'?" His tone was eloquent of remonstrance. "I've been staying at the inn." "At the inn?" he repeated, looking at me curiously. "And is the duchess at home?" "She's at home now. How come you here?" "Ah, my friend, and how comes your arm in a sling? Well, you shall have my story first. I expect it will prove shorter. I am staying at Pontorson with a friend who is quartered there." "But you went to Paris." Gustave leaned clown to me, and spoke in a low impressive tone: "Gilbert," said he, "I've had a blow. The day after I got to Paris I heard from Lady Cynthia. She's going to be married to a countryman of yours." Gustave looked very doleful. I murmured condolence, though in truth I cared, just then, not a straw about the matter. "So," he continued, "I seized the first opportunity for a little change." There was a pause. Gustave's mournful eye ranged over the landscape. Then he said, in a patient, sorrowful voice: "You said the duchess was at home?" "Yes, she's at home now." "Ah! I ask again, because as I passed the inn on the way between here and Pontorson I saw in the courtyard--" "Yes, yes, what?" cried I in sudden eagerness. "What's the matter, man? I saw a carriage with some luggage on it, and it looked like the duke's, and--Hallo! Gilbert, where are you going?" "I can't wait, I can't wait!" I called, already three or four yards away. "But I haven't heard how you got your arm--" "I can't tell you now. I can't wait!" My lethargy had vanished; I was hot to be on my way again. "Is the man mad?" he cried; and he put his horse to a quick walk to keep up with me. I stopped short. "It would take all day to tell you the story," I said impatiently. "Still I should like to know--" "I can't help it. Look here, Gustave, the duchess knows. Go and see her. I must go on now." Across the puzzled mournful eyes of the rejected lover and bewildered friend I thought I saw a little gleam. "The duchess?" said he. "Yes, she's all alone. The duke's not there." "Where is the duke?" he asked; but, as it struck me, now rather in precaution than in curiosity. "That's what I'm going to see," said I.