"A camp of soldiers. If there were men only I might have warmed myself at their fire without their seeing or hearing me; but a horse smelt me out and neighed." "I heard it." "Then you understand; not a word. We must take to our legs, that's all." As he spoke they were running along a wood-road, which fortunately came in their way. After a time Bonneville drew Petit-Pierre into the bushes. "Get your breath," he said. While Petit-Pierre rested, Bonneville tried to make out where they were. "Are we lost?" asked Petit-Pierre, uneasily. "Oh, no danger of that!" said Bonneville. "I'm only looking for a way to avoid that horrid marsh." "If it leads us straight to our object we had better take it," said Petit-Pierre. "We must," replied Bonneville; "I don't see any other way." "Forward, then!" cried Petit-Pierre; "only, you must guide me." Bonneville made no answer; but in proof of urgency, he started at once, and instead of following the "line" path on which they were, he turned to the right and plunged into the thicket. At the end of ten minutes' march the underbrush lessened. They were nearing the edge of the forest, and they could hear before them the swishing of the reeds in the wind. "Aha!" cried Petit-Pierre, recognizing the sound; "we are close to the marsh now." "Yes," said Bonneville; "and I ought not to conceal from you that this is the most critical moment of our flight." So saying, the young man took from his pocket a knife, which might, if necessary, be used as a dagger, and cut down a sapling, removing all the branches, but taking care to hide each one as he lopped it off. "Now," he said, "my poor Petit-Pierre, you must resign yourself and go back to your former place on my shoulders." Petit-Pierre instantly did as he was told, and Bonneville went forward toward the marsh. His advance under the weight he carried, hindered by the long sapling which he used to test the condition of the ground at every step, was horribly difficult. Often he sank into the slough almost to his knees, and the earth, which seemed soft enough as it gave way under him, offered a positive resistance when he sought to extricate himself. It was, in fact, with the utmost difficulty that he could get his legs out of it; it seemed as though the gulf that opened at their feet was unwilling to relinquish its prey. "Let me give you some advice, my dear count," said Petit-Pierre. Bonneville stopped and wiped his brow. "If, instead of paddling in this mire, you stepped from tuft to tuft of those reeds which are growing here, I think you would find a better foothold." "Yes," said Bonneville, "I should; but we should leave more visible traces." Then, a moment later, he added, "No matter. You are right; it is best."