“And why did you not?” Dubosq demanded. “That would at least have saved your own neck.” “I had given him my word,” I explained, and related the dilemma in which I had found myself. “But even then,” I concluded, “I would have killed him had he not turned his back.” Dubosq listened, looking at me keenly. At the last words he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as though he understood. Then he glanced moodily away across the field. I followed his eyes and saw approaching us from the grove two men bearing the body of a third. “Is that his work?” I asked. “Yes,” said Dubosq; and fell silent until the bearers reached the road and placed the body on the grass beneath the tree. I saw with a shudder that the man had been stabbed in the back. “Yes,” repeated Dubosq fiercely, “that is his work. He crept upon him from behind and struck him down. He did not hesitate because his victim’s back was turned. Oh, these traitors, these aristocrats, with their talk of honor!” and he shook his clenched fists above his head. “But how did he escape?” I queried, for even yet I did not understand. “How did he escape?” yelled Dubosq, his face purple. “He escaped because his wits are better than ours. There is that to be said for the aristocrats--their wits are better than ours, clods that we are! He murdered this man----” “Not murder, citizen,” I interrupted. “Not that--self-defense.” “Self-defense!” roared Dubosq. “In the back? Murder, I say! Then shielding himself in that ditch yonder, he worked his way back to the road, mounted your horse and was off, while we were blundering around in that little grove. I should have thought of the ditch;” and he stood glowering at it. “I did--too late! I disgust myself!” “And I suffer in consequence,” I added. “Come, my friend, confess that you believe my story. Look at me. I am no conspirator--in your heart you know it. If I had been the friend of that fellow, I would have ridden away behind him; certainly I should not have remained here waiting for your return. To revenge yourself on me because your trap has failed--that is unworthy of you. Besides I have suffered enough already--and for no fault.” He looked at me for a moment, and his face softened. I saw that the storm was over. “I believe you, citizen,” he said; “you are free,” and he whipped out his knife and cut my bonds. For thanks I held out my hand and he gripped it warmly. “Come,” he urged, “join my troop, pin on the tri-color, and I will make a man of you.” But I shook my head. “No, my friend,” I said, “an errand of honor calls me to Poitiers.” He looked at me with renewed suspicion. “Which reminds me,” he added, “that you have not yet told me the nature of that errand.” “I will tell you,” I said, “as a friend;” and I whispered a swift sentence in his ear. He burst out laughing, his good humor restored in an instant.