Instantly his quick eye recognized d’Estouteville, who, advancing at a gallop, was fully exposed to view by the moonlight now strong on the road, and instantly his quick mind changed its plan. He was only too eager for a fight, but what he wanted even more was a horse. D’Estouteville was a good swordsman, and might place him, by chance, _hors de combat_, and this chance did not suit him. For M. de Rochefort was going to Paris, and he had sworn to himself that nothing should stop him. When d’Estouteville was only a hundred yards away, Rochefort drew rein, leaped from his horse and ran away. He struck across a fence and across some park-land lying on the right of the road, and d’Estouteville, scarcely believing his eyes at the sight of his cowardice, flung himself from the saddle, left the two horses to fraternize, and gave chase. Rochefort was striking across the grass towards some trees. One of the swiftest runners in France, he now seemed broken down and winded. D’Estouteville overhauled him rapidly as he ran, making for a small clump of trees standing in the middle of the park-land. He doubled round this clump, d’Estouteville’s hand nearly on his shoulder, and then, having turned and having the road again for his goal, a miracle happened. The tired and broken-down runner became endowed with the swiftness of a hare; d’Estouteville, furious and hopelessly outpaced, followed, cursing no less deeply because he had no breath to curse with. On the road Rochefort, with a good thirty yards between him and his pursuer, seized the bridle of d’Estouteville’s horse, which was quietly cropping the grass at the road edge, mounted, and, waving his hand to the emissary of de Choiseul, struck off for Paris. D’Estouteville, still perfectly sure of his prey, mounted Valmajour and turned in pursuit. Then he found out the truth. Rochefort had exchanged a broken-down horse for a sound one; his flight had not been dictated by cowardice but by astuteness, and the fooled one in his fury would have driven his sword through the heart of Valmajour had not Valmajour been the King’s horse and under royal protection. BOOK II CHAPTER I A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT The horse Rochefort had captured was a powerful roan, fully caparisoned after the fashion of the officers’ horses of the cavalry, with pistols in the holsters and a saddle-bag for despatches. Having ridden half a league at full gallop, Rochefort drew rein and glanced back. He was no longer pursued. He hugged himself at the thought of d’Estouteville’s position. D’Estouteville would have to return to Versailles, on a lame horse, and with what explanation? Were he to tell people that Rochefort had run away from him, he would be laughed at, for Rochefort’s reputation for courage was too well founded to be shaken by a tale like that.