“Then, despite my protestations, they gagged me again, and flung me into the loft of the stables, bidding me lie there till the morning, and though I ached with the pain of the cords, I laughed in my heart to think that my letter was safe as yet. _Boun!_” he exclaimed, with his strong southern accent, “_Boun!_ It was safe as yet; but for how long! That I could not tell. Through the chill hours I lay there, till I heard the cock crow, and there was a bustle, and you all departed. I could hear your voices but could neither speak nor move.” “By heaven! If we had known you were so close, Ponthieu, we would have struck a blow for you then.” “You have done so now, to make amends,” he said, as he continued: “About a half-hour after you were gone, my friends returned and, setting me on a horse, we rode off in the direction of Loches. I forgot to say they had removed my gag, and the ropes from my feet, though my hands remained securely tied. Beyond Beaulieu we met the Princess of Condé and her suite on the way to Orleans.” “What!” exclaimed Marcilly and I in a breath. “Eh!” said Ponthieu, “you seem surprised, but it is as I said.” “_Souvent femme varie_,” muttered Jean, under his breath, as I hastened to ask: “Are you sure, Ponthieu?” “Sure as I live! It was near the King’s Oak, where the road through the forest turns sharply toward the west. My guards thought me safe enough, for Loches was in sight. Two of them were a little in front of me laughing and singing, two rode behind, and in this manner we were going at a walk, when at the elbow of the road we came face to face with a half-dozen cavaliers, and the leading horseman was Coqueville. “All through the morning I had been looking for some chance to make a dash for it. When we met, the two parties were not fifty yards apart, and if I could only slip past them, I knew that in the confusion I would get a start, and the luck that favors the brave might favor me. “All this went through me in a moment. I put spurs to my horse, and, giving a yell, went forward like a flash. I got behind Coqueville, calling loudly out to him by name for help, and then my horse stumbled, and I rolled over like a log into the brambles. “But the good God was with me. I was not hurt, by a mercy. Coqueville knew my voice, and _ma foi!_ But he is a great sword. While I lay in the brambles I heard the kicking and plunging of horses, the clash of steel, and twice the sharp reports of a pistol. My guards were taken by surprise, but the bishop is well served, and they made a brave fight of it. Two lay dead in the snow, and two, beaten from their horses, had surrendered. I thought it was time to appear now, so scrambled up, and began to pour out thanks, while the cords that bound my hands were cut by a Moorish dwarf.” “Majolais!”