But Jean laughed as he faced round, and we four of us, brought to bay, waited for de Rabutin. After he was felled by Marcilly, he must have seized a trooper’s horse and followed us, and we could see him now, utterly weaponless, riding well ahead of his men, his face red with the blood of his wound, and his pourpoint splashed and torn. As they came up, however, his men, seeing we were determined to fight to the last, that we were well armed and desperate, wavered and hesitated. Not so did Rabutin; he was mad with anger, and shrieked at them as they slackened rein, and began to move forward slowly. “Cowards! Dogs! Would you halt now? See, there are but four of them! On! On! God save me! Am I followed by a pack of serving-wenches or men-at-arms?” And as he stormed, Marcilly shouted to him: “Go back, de Rabutin! We have no quarrel with you. Go back!” But the sound of Jean’s voice seemed to drive him to frenzy. “You--you----” he said, shaking his clenched fist at us, and, all swordless as he was, plunged into the stream, followed for very shame by his men. Our hands were being forced, and I felt that what was to follow would not be on our heads; but now Jean raised his pistol and shot de Rabutin’s horse dead, and man and beast together fell into the icy water of the Masse. His men needed no further inducement to retreat than the fall of their leader, and, turning rein at once for the opposite shore, galloped off leaving de Rabutin to his fate. He managed to scramble to the bank thoroughly cooled by his drenching, and wishing him a pleasant walk back to Chenonceaux--a good wish that he answered with a curse--we rode on, now thanking our lucky stars at our escape, now laughing at the sorry figure poor de Rabutin cut as he crawled out of the water. “We have made an enemy for life,” said Marcilly, “and the worst of it is that the Tarantaise has something of right on his side. He will make the Court ring with his complaints.” “And we with laughter, as we tell how monsieur took a bath in the Masse ere he walked to Chenonceaux,” I answered. “As for right on his side,” said Ponthieu, “_Cap de Diou!_ He holds no commission as a catch-poll. What right had he to hunt us to death like a stag. My faith! It was in my heart to have ended his hunting for all as he struggled in the water.” The Gascon had excuse for what he said, and, as we crossed the Bievre, that little child of the Beuvron, we slackened pace, now feeling secure from further pursuit, and Ponthieu, who had completely regained his spirits and good temper, told us how he escaped. “You must know, friends,” he said, “that when I dropped out of the window, I knew no more than the road to the moon where I was, but after some groping I reached the stable where my lame nag stood. He was close to yours, and for once I was tempted to take the chance Providence had thrown to my hand, and assist myself to one of your beasts.” “If you had, Ponthieu----”