"Bah! Nonsense, man--boy, I mean," said Saint Simon, with a laugh. "But I say, you must have given it to him somewhere. He was bleeding like a pig. I followed his track to where he must have sat down on the grass to bind up his wound. And there he stopped it, to rise and walk off, making good strides for a dead man. You gave him his pay for horse-stealing, and I'll be bound to say he feels more sore than you, my hero. Now then, how do you feel about getting up?" "I feel sick, and as if I want to lie." "But the--ahem!--Comte? He must be awake by now." "Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand--Thanks--Ah!--It hurts horribly--my throat's better--but my arm feels as though it had been screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can't." "I ought to have done it before," said Saint Simon; "but I say, lad, let go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip." "Are they?" said the boy faintly. "I don't feel as if I had any. Everything is hot and numb." "Yes, you have had a nasty wrench. But that will soon be right. We soldiers don't mind unless we are killed. That's better. Here, let's wipe the blade," and he picked a bunch of grass. "I am not going to soil my kerchief with the ruffian's blood. That's better," he continued, as he returned the long thin blade to its sheath. "I'll give it a polish for you when we get back to the inn. Now do you think you could mount?" "No, not yet," said the boy. "Give me a little time." "Hours, lad; and here, let me arrange your scarf. Stand still. That's the way. Over your right shoulder--tied in a knot--now opened out widely here so that your arm can rest in it, like that. Those are soldiers' knots for a wounded limb.--That feel easier?" "Not much," said Denis. "Yes, that's better. It seems to take the weight, and I'm beginning to feel that I've got one now." "Oh, yes, it will soon come round," cried Saint Simon joyfully. "Now, boys, it's time you left off sullying your bits with grass," he continued, to the horses, as he unbuckled their reins, so that in leading one he led all three; and offering his right arm to Denis, who gladly took it and leant upon it heavily, he led the way back along the lane to where they had parted, and from thence into the great stable-yard and through the long stable to where the two hostlers were still sleeping heavily, not in the slightest degree roused by the trampling of the chargers upon the stone-paved floor. "Now then," said Saint Simon, "shall we tie up the horses here again?" "No," cried Denis sharply. "Look--through the door yonder. There's the Comte!" CHAPTER TWELVE. A WELL-MEANT WARNING. Saint Simon glanced in the direction indicated, to see across the yard the King standing at the open doorway, talking, and evidently questioning their hostess, who was pointing towards the stable where the young men were.