“The road is not far off,” I said. “Once we have gained that, you may perhaps be able to walk alone. But I shall not permit you to torture yourself by limping over this rough ground.” She was looking at me with defiance in her eyes, and I saw that I should have to use _finesse_. “Please do not forget,” I reminded her, “the selfishness of my disposition. One step upon a sharp stone and you will be so lamed that I shall have to carry you, not a matter of a few hundred yards, but all the way to the Bocage. My back aches at thought of it; and so I propose for myself the lighter task, in order to escape the other.” Her look changed from defiance to amusement. “You have a wit truly ingenious, M. de Tavernay,” she said. “I yield to it--for the moment.” “I knew that reason would convince you,” I replied, trembling at the thought that I should have her in my arms again. “Come, there is still a little wine in the bottles. I propose a toast--the toast we drank last night;” and I arose and bared my head. “God and the King!” But that toast was never to be drunk; for even as I raised the bottle, it was dashed from my lips, and two men hurled themselves upon me out of the darkness. CHAPTER XX. A DAGGER OF ANOTHER SORT. FOR an instant I did not resist, so sudden and unlooked-for was the attack; then, as I felt a merciless hand gripping my throat, I struck savagely at a face I could dimly see just in front of my own. A burst of blood flooded down over it, changing it into a hideous mask; but again I felt those fingers of steel about my neck--fingers which tightened and tightened, tear at them as I might. In a mad frenzy of rage and agony, I struck again and again at the face before me, until my tongue swelled in my mouth and the heavens danced red before my eyes. This was the end, then! I was to be murdered here by these tavern vagabonds. That vengeance I had sworn was never to be accomplished; and Charlotte--Charlotte---- The pang which struck through me was not one of physical suffering alone; indeed, for an instant I ceased to feel those savage fingers. Ah, I could die--that were nothing! But to leave her! Had God abandoned us? Where was His justice? Where was His mercy? Again I tore at those fingers, desperately, madly. I felt the blood spurt from my nostrils, the heavens reeled before me, a black moon in a sky of living flame.... What magic was it drew that breath of air into my lungs?--life-giving air, which sent the heart bounding and the pulse leaping in answer! A second!--a third! I was dimly conscious of a knife gleaming in the air. I struck again. The face vanished from before me. But the fingers!--the fingers!--they were buried in my flesh!--they were crushing my life out! I raised a hand to my throat. The fingers were not there! And again the sky turned red, and a black moon hung low in it--a moon which grew and grew, until it swallowed the heavens and the earth.... * * * * *