“Not in the least,” I protested. “I did not lie--I had never seen Favras before. He took my horse by force, as I related to you; but I found him awaiting me at the next town. He restored my horse to me and insisted that I spend the night at his château.” “Faith, citizen,” said Dubosq with a laugh, “you’d better have lost your horse and spent the night under a hedge. As it is, you lose your life and enter the eternal night.” “Yes; there’s no help for that, I suppose?” “Not if Citizen Goujon has ordered it.” “He did order it,” broke in one of my persecutors, who had listened to all this with ill-concealed impatience, “and at once.” “Very well, comrade,” said Dubosq; “come along, then. But he didn’t order you to torture this fellow, and, _pardieu_, I’ll see that you don’t. If you have any message, Citizen--I’ve forgotten your name.” “Tavernay,” I prompted. “Oh, yes; I remember. Well, if you have any messages, Citizen Tavernay, I’ll be glad to take charge of them. It’s the only kindness I can do you, I’m afraid.” “Thanks, my friend,” I answered, tears in my eyes at this unexpected favor. “If you could convey news of my death to my mother at Beaufort----” “Consider it done,” he broke in. “Anything else?” “Citizen,” I said, lowering my voice, “for myself I do not greatly care. But I had a companion--a pure and beautiful woman. If you can save her from death, or worse, you will be doing a noble action.” Dubosq pulled his great mustaches thoughtfully. “Is she an aristocrat?” he asked at last. “Not at all,” I hastened to assure him. “She was merely a guest at the château like myself.” “I will see what can be done,” he promised; “but it will be no easy task.” “I know it, my friend; therefore I ask it of you.” “Come, Citizen Tavernay,” he said, raising his head suddenly, “I can pledge you one thing.” “And that?” “That she has nothing worse to fear than death.” “God bless you!” I said with trembling lips. “God bless you! Now I can die in peace.” “Do you know, citizen,” said Dubosq in a voice almost tender, “I regret more and more that you did not accept my invitation to join us that morning, for, by my soul, you are a gallant fellow!” We had reached a small oak which grew upon the hillside, and one end of the line was thrown over a lower branch. “One minute to shrive yourself, citizen,” called a rude voice.