She nodded, went to the door and spoke a word to some one in the room beyond. Then my heart chilled, for it was not the dear face I had hoped to see which appeared in answer to the summons, but an ugly, bearded countenance, set on gigantic shoulders. And yet, at a second glance, I saw that the countenance, though ugly, was not repulsive, that the eyes were kindly, and that the lips could smile winningly. “M. de Tavernay,” said my nurse, bringing him to my bedside, “this is M. de Marigny.” He bent and pressed one of my hands in his great palm, then sat down beside me, while I gazed with interest at perhaps the most famous among the leaders of the Bocage. “And very pleased I am to find you doing so well, monsieur,” he said in a voice singularly rich. “In faith, I thought for a time that we had rescued you from the rope merely to condemn you to the bludgeon.” “Even that would have been a service, monsieur,” I answered, smiling in response to him. “But it seems I am to get well again.” “Yes; you had youth and health to fight for you. Alas, they are not always on one’s side!” “But the rescue, monsieur?” I asked. “How came it so pat to the moment?” “I must confess that that was an accident,” he laughed. “My spies brought me word that this regiment was marching to Thouars. I determined to strike one more blow before Easter, so I called my men together and we waited behind our hedges. When night fell we turned our sheepskins and, mingling with the flock upon the hillside, gradually descended upon our enemy’s pickets. It was then that a sudden commotion in the camp below attracted our attention. We saw a fracas, from which emerged that little procession of which you were the central figure. We saw them prepare for the execution and supposing them to be about to hang some cut-throat of their own waited until they should accomplish it. Then suddenly you gave our battle-cry, ‘God and the King!’ and brought us headlong to your rescue. In fact I had not even to give the word to fire.” “It was fortunate I chose to make a theatric exit,” I commented, laughing. “Permit me to say that it was the act of a brave man, monsieur. I trust that I shall meet my end as bravely.” Poor, gallant gentleman! He met it more bravely still--the victim of treacherous envy, he faced the muskets erect, with eyes unbandaged, and himself gave the word to fire. “Tell me more,” I urged. “You won?” “Oh, yes; we cut them to pieces and seized a store of arms and ammunition which will stand us in good stead. But we captured something else a thousand times more welcome.” “What was that, monsieur?” I asked. “That was Citizen Goujon,” he answered; and his eyes grew cold as steel. “We found him writhing in his tent----” “Yes--I planted one good blow,” I said, and told him the story. “What did you do with him?”