We rode slowly up the crowded Rue Royale, talking gaily of a hundred things, to cover that which was in our minds. We spoke of Coqueville and wondered if he had got free of the town. It was all but impossible, as we thought, and if arrested, we knew there would be no mercy shown to him, who, with the exception perhaps of Renaudie, had been perhaps the most daring and able leader of the Amboisards. And even as we spoke of him the old proverb came true, for in the pushing, swaying crowd in the street I caught a glimpse of the dwarf, his gay clothes covered with patches of mud, as if he had fallen heavily, and close to him was Coqueville himself, stalking quietly through the press, evidently making his way toward the city gates. “See there!” I whispered to Marcilly, but his eye was as quick as mine. “So they have not got off. They are lost if they are recognized now--take no notice.” As he spoke, the dwarf turned his head and saw us, showing his teeth in a knowing smile, while he plucked Coqueville by his cloak, but the latter looked at us as if we were perfect strangers, and began to cross the road slowly, followed by his companion. It was at this point that a party of horsemen came sharply into the street. They rode at a trot, utterly regardless of the people, and the crowd gave before them in fear. It was Achon himself who rode at the head of these men--Achon booted and spurred like a carabinier of the guard, a steel corselet glinting under his purple mantle, and swinging in his right hand a long, straight cutting whip. In the stir caused by the pace at which Monsieur of Arles and his men came on, Coqueville slipped out of sight, but, confused by the crowd, Majolais hesitated and looked around him. Achon’s horse swerved slightly at the black, misshapen figure; but, pulling him back almost on his haunches, the prelate raised his whip and struck the Moor savagely across the face. For a moment, half blinded and bleeding, Majolais staggered back and then sprang at Achon, something flashing brightly in his hand; but the cruel whip came down again like lightning, and, with a shriek, the dwarf rolled over on the cobble-stones of the pavement. A man-at-arms lowered his lance to stick him, but the dwarf gained his feet with incredible rapidity, and dashed headlong into the crowd, which closed around him with a roar of oaths, laughter, and mob-cries, with now and then a tone that rose to the octave of menace against the bishop and his suite. But Achon only smiled grimly as he gave some orders to his followers, and two of them detached themselves, as if to pursue the dwarf, while the rest rode onward. Not once had Achon looked in our direction, and yet I knew and felt that we had been seen and recognized by him, though for the present that mattered little. He was evidently on his way to the palace, and we halted for a moment to let the crowd clear, and watched the cavalcade, until it turned off to the right, and vanished from our view.