The Captain of Chenonceaux laughed, and insisted on walking by us as far as the bridge, over which he said he would give us safe conduct. We stopped on the other side to say farewell, when we were startled by a sudden roar of voices that came from behind, and, turning round, saw the crowd swaying and parting before a mounted man, who, bareheaded, white-faced, and spattered with mud, urged his horse through the press, now striking to the right, then to the left, with the flat of his drawn sword. It was Ponthieu, as I lived! Ponthieu, who had somehow escaped the clutches of Achon, and was making a brave bid for freedom. “Name of the devil!” roared de Rabutin. “Stop him! Seize him!” There were half a dozen mounted men at the bridge close to us, and in an instant swords had flashed out, and the way was barred, but it was all or nothing now, and with a reckless shout of “_Bourbon, Notre Dame!_” Ponthieu spurred across the bridge and came straight for us. Things that take but a moment to happen should take but a moment to tell. Our swords were out, too, now; but we cut for Ponthieu as he came up, and he dashed into us in the confusion caused by our sudden assault in his favor. Marcilly’s reins were seized by de Rabutin with a cry of “Traitor,” but Jean leaned forward and struck the Tarantaise with the hilt of his sword, and he fell backward, but rose staggering to his feet. Ponthieu was hard pressed. Once he thrust at me, and it was but chance that I managed to turn his point. At another time he was all but overpowered, but I ran the trooper who was on him through, and the man fell forward with a sob. “Courage, Ponthieu!” I cried, and then he recognized me. “Good friend!” he said, and the next moment we were free. “Gallop! Gallop!” It was Jean’s voice at my bridle-rein, but we needed no word to urge us as we dashed forward, Ponthieu at my right hand and Badehorn, who had cunningly got clear at the beginning of things, a good quarter-mile ahead. Ah! But it was with a glad heart that I rode on. I had felt Ponthieu’s fate to be like a mill-stone round my neck, and now he was free, and it was my sword that had helped to free him! It was to me an omen of the future, and for very lightness of soul I could have turned back for yet another pass with de Rabutin’s men, who came pressing behind, cursing as they fired their pistols after us in vain.