"No," said Leoni, cool and stern as if, in spite of the emergency, danger was afar. "Support him that side." And letting his horse's rein fall upon the neck he drew his little _flacon_ from the breast of his doublet, unscrewed the top, and passing his arm round the King's shoulders, the head fell back, and the doctor pressed the neck of the little flask between his lips, while Francis yawned slightly, and a few drops trickled over his dry hot tongue. A few drops--no more--and then the top was screwed on the flask, it was returned to its owner's breast, and he busily examined the King's forehead, after drawing back the plumed cap which had been dragged down over his eyes. "A cut from sword or axe," muttered Leoni. "It must have been given by one of those halberdiers. He has borne it bravely, gentlemen, and like a king. Hah! My handkerchief!" He snatched it out, just as it was, folded like a pad. "Now then, a scarf," he said. "Yours, Denis. I will unfasten it myself. You, Saint Simon, ride back a hundred yards and listen. Make out if you can whether we are pursued." Saint Simon turned off and rode back without a word, while Leoni hastily unfastened and drew off the young esquire's silken scarf, and said with his white teeth glistening in a sardonic smile in the bright moonlight: "Why, Denis, boy, you will be honoured to-night. You must save this scarf as an heirloom, for when you get it back it will be deeply stained with the royal blood of France." "Hist!" whispered the lad, flushing. "The Comte will hear." "Perhaps," said Leoni coolly; "but he will not understand. Ah, that is better: raise his head a little.--Stand still, horse!" he cried angrily; and then, as Denis raised the King's head a trifle, the white handkerchief was bound tightly over the wound, and the scarf adjusted so that it retained it in its place and formed into a turban-like cover, while the King's jewelled cap was secured by its strap to the embroidered baldric he wore. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. AN AWKWARD HALT. Meanwhile the strong medicament administered by Leoni had had its effect, giving the sufferer temporary energy and to some extent restoring the reeling senses, so that by the time the _al fresco_ surgery was at an end, Francis began to speak with a fair amount of coherence. "Who's this?" he said. "You, Leoni? Thanks, man. How cool and fresh the night air feels! Have I been hurt? Yes, I remember. That caitiff dog of an Englishman struck me with his partisan, and I had no time to reach him and pay him back. Thanks, doctor. Yes, I am better now. But on, on, on!" he panted, with a sudden return of the slight delirium from which he had suffered. "An end to all this. Fontainebleau! Can we reach there to-night?"