"Come," he said; "to-morrow you can do as you like; but to-night, at least, come and sleep at the farmhouse,--you and the person, lady or gentleman, who is with you. I swear to you, Monsieur le baron, that there is danger in being out to-night." "There is no danger for myself and my companion, for we are not concerned in politics. What are you doing to my saddle, Courtin?" asked the young man suddenly, noticing a movement on his farmer's part which he did not understand. "Why, nothing, Monsieur Michel; nothing," said Courtin, with perfect good-humor. "So then, you positively won't listen to my advice and entreaties?" "No; go your way, and let me go mine." "Go, then!" exclaimed the farmer, in his sly, sarcastic tone; "and God be with you. Remember that poor Courtin did what he could to prevent you from rushing into danger." So saying, Courtin finally drew aside, and Michel, setting spurs to his horse, rode past him. "Gallop! gallop!" cried Petit-Pierre. "That is the man who caused poor Bonneville's death. Let us get on as fast as we can; that man has the evil-eye." The young baron stuck both spurs into his horse; but the animal had hardly gone a dozen paces before the saddle turned, and both riders came heavily to the ground. Petit-Pierre was up first. "Are you hurt?" she asked Michel, who was getting up more slowly. "No," he replied; "but I am wondering how--" "How we came to fall? That's not the question. We did fall, and there's the fact. Girth your horse again, and as fast as possible." "_Aïe!_" cried Michel, who had already thrown the saddle over his horse's back; "both girths are broken at precisely the same height." "Say they are cut," said Petit-Pierre. "It is a trick of your infernal Courtin; and it is a warning of worse--Wait, look over there." Michel, whose arm Petit-Pierre had seized, looked in the direction to which she pointed, and there, about a mile distant in the valley, he saw three or four camp-fires shining in the darkness. "It is a bivouac," said Petit-Pierre. "If that scoundrel suspects the truth--and no doubt he does--he will make for the camp and set those red-breeches on our traces." "Ah! do you think that knowing I am with you, I, his master, he would dare--" "I must suppose everything, Monsieur Michel, and I must risk nothing." "You are right; we must leave nothing to chance." "Hadn't we better leave the beaten path?" "I was thinking of that." "How much time will it take to go on foot to the place where the marquis is awaiting us?" "An hour, at least; and we have no time to lose. But what shall we do with the horse? He can't climb the banks as we must." "Throw the bridle on his neck. He'll go back to his stable; and if our friends meet the animal on the way, they'll know some accident has happened and will come in search of us. Hush! hush!" "What is it?" "Don't you hear something?" asked Petit-Pierre. "Yes; horses' feet in the direction of that bivouac."