AT dawn two days later I took horse for Poitiers with clothes and equipage furnished me by M. de Marigny, who had been exceedingly kind to me from the first, though delighting to speak in riddles, from which he seemingly drew vast amusement. For myself, I was not in vein to be amused. I had fought my battle, and I had won it; I had set forward on the path of honor; but the victory had left a wound still raw and bleeding. Yet such is the vanity of human nature that it was not without a certain pride in my achievement that I bade my host good-by and turned my horse’s head toward the south. At least I need be ashamed to look no man or woman in the face. As for that scar in my heart, no eye except my own should ever contemplate it. What a different creature this from that careless, heart-free boy who had pricked forth from Beaufort little more than a week before! Since then I had lived my whole life; I had sprung from youth to manhood; I had faced death, tasted of the world, gazed into a woman’s eyes. I had taken blows and given them; I had walked in the black depths of despair, and stood transfigured on the uttermost peaks of joy. Love had touched me and left me changed. I had lived,--for a week I had lived,--nothing could take that from me! After much thought I had formed my plan of action. It was quite possible, as Mlle. de Chambray had said, that Mlle. de Benseval desired me as little as I desired her. In case this were true,--and I flattered myself that it would require no great penetration on my part to discern it,--I would offer her her freedom. Should she refuse it, should she feel bound by our oath, as I did, I would marry her, then fling myself into the war in La Vendée, trusting that some kindly bullet would release us both from our unhappy fate. But if, on the contrary, she looked on me with favor, if I saw that I might win her heart, I would play a man’s part and be as fond a lover as it is possible to be by taking thought. So, having arrived at this conclusion, I put it behind me for the moment and pricked forward along the road more cheerfully than I had thought possible. Such is the virtue of facing one’s duty squarely, of making up one’s mind--even if it is only to accept manfully the worst that fate may offer. My road at first lay through the narrow valleys and between the high hedges of the Bocage. Everywhere the peasants were working in their fields; their flocks were grazing peacefully in the pastures, and one would never have suspected that it was in this quiet country the first effective stand had been made against the bloody torrent of the Revolution. At last I passed Airvault and came out into the more level country of the Plain. I had planned to reach Neuville by noon, so pressed on at a good pace, secure in the knowledge that here to the south I should encounter no Republican force and consequently no delay.