"Better dismount and stretch your legs, Mademoiselle," said Lesellè. "Two minutes means ten." "Are we on time?" "Better than that; one third the way, and the hour not much more than gone eleven." "Bay Zadok?" "Ah, Mademoiselle! if we could but have put him out of pain!" "Poor beast! So bad as that? What of your own hurt? Ungrateful that I am, I had forgotten it." "Nothing, Mademoiselle, nothing at all," and he turned into the shadow of the thatched house, crying out, "Quick with the horses! the King is in haste!" The King is in haste! A true word. There were two Kings in haste, the King of Life and Love and the King of Sorrows. In my impatience I smote my palms together. "Will they never bring the horses! Monsieur Lesellè! Monsieur Lesellè----" "Here they come, Mademoiselle." Down a lane between the huts, a lane smelling of unutterable vileness, came the night-capped figure, a bridle on either arm. "Do you give Monsieur a hand; ride on, I'll follow," said Lesellè, and like a bolt I shot into the dark. This time I could brook no cautious warming into work. Behind me Lesellè shouted for God's sake to wait; but I only cried back, Follow, follow, follow! and spurred on. It was three leagues before he caught me up, and then only because the Creuse at Port-de-piles stopped me. Six, eight, ten minutes I waited, chafing. But the river was brawling, and I dared not face the water alone. Lesellè's words were a warning. Only wolves or accident can stop us, and I feared the last more than the first. When at length he came through the gloom he was swaying in his saddle. "Now I know why you lagged behind!" I cried sharply. "Shame, boy, shame! Monsieur de Commines said I could trust you. Is this a time to drink yourself drunk?" Steadying himself by an effort he turned to the left, making neither retort nor protest. "The ford is upstream, Mademoiselle," was all he said. That he took the rebuke so meekly turned the edge of my anger, righteous though it was, and I followed him without further comment. But as we crossed the stream, I riding on his left, midway my horse stumbled, and I cried out, for the waiting had broken down my self-control. Promptly he dropped the reins from his right hand, catching at my bridle. But reaching across his body he missed it, and I recovered of myself, shaken and out of temper. "Try your nearer hand next time." "Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered submissively, and splashing on through the shallow water of the ford led up the road.