With a grunt and a laugh the fellow did as Humphrey bade him, and did it gently too, so that in a few moments the latter's body was bare while the orifice of a gaping wound was plainly visible two inches below the shoulder. Yet, probably owing to the action of the water through which Humphrey had not only been borne but tossed upon, that wound was neither livid nor covered with blood and was, doubtless, thereby prevented from mortifying. The man found, too, by running his hand under Humphrey's back, that the weapon had not passed through the body, while, by pressing the side and finding that the young man neither winced nor groaned, he opined that the sword had not entered very deeply. "I am no surgeon," he said; "I can do naught. Yet there are good ones in Basle. When daylight comes, if you will have it so, I will get out my mule and cart in which I take the fish I catch to Basle, and will drive you there." "Ay," Humphrey said, "in heaven's name do so, I beseech you. And then you shall be rewarded. The Duchess with whom I travel----" "You are a friend of duchesses?" Therese and her father exclaimed, while the first added, "Was it for this woman you were stabbed and thrown into the river?" "I rode in her service," Humphrey replied; when, again addressing the man, he said, "You shall be well paid for your services." "Sus! sus!" the latter grunted, "I seek not reward for saving life. Yet you are rich you say, and we--God help us!--are splitting with hunger and poverty. Now, let me strip you," he went on, "and wrap you in the straw--we have no other covering even for ourselves--and I will dry your habiliments. Meanwhile, a rag to your wound must suffice till we reach Basle. It will not be long; the dayspring will come soon. Sleep, seigneur, sleep; sleep is both food and balm to those who have naught else." This story Humphrey told--even more briefly than it has been set down--to the King sitting before him and to the harsh, severe-looking minister standing by his master's chair. He told, too, of how he reached Basle where his wound was dressed by a learned doctor, and of how his bruises and contusions--caused by his being tossed by the rushing river against boulder stones and logs borne down like himself on its cruel bosom--were soothed by cunning unguents and salves as well as might be. He narrated, also, how he found the Duchess and Jacquette almost distraught at his disappearance as well as at that of La Truaumont and Fleur de Mai, while their consternation was enhanced by the disappearance next morning of Boisfleury who had also decamped on the pretence of seeking the Syndic. All were gone, yet, with the exception of Boisfleury's horse, upon which the vagabond rode away, their animals remained in the stalls.