‘I wonder you do not want my sword,’ I said by way of sarcasm, as I swung myself up. ‘We are not afraid of it,’ the innkeeper answered gravely. ‘You may keep it--for the present.’ I made no answer--what answer had I to make?--and we rode at a footpace down the street; he and I leading, Clon and the shock-headed man bringing up the rear. The leisurely mode of our departure, the absence of hurry or even haste, the men’s indifference whether they were seen, or what was thought, all served to sink my spirits and deepen my sense of peril. I felt that they suspected me, that they more than half guessed the nature of my errand at Cocheforet, and that they were not minded to be bound by Mademoiselle’s orders. In particular, I augured the worst from Clon’s appearance. His lean malevolent face and sunken eyes, his very dumbness chilled me. Mercy had no place there. We rode soberly, so that nearly half an hour elapsed before we gained the brow from which I had taken my first look at Cocheforet. Among the dwarf oaks whence I had viewed the valley we paused to breathe our horses, and the strange feelings with which I looked back on the scene may be imagined. But I had short time for indulging in sentiment or recollections. A curt word, and we were moving again. A quarter of a mile farther on, the road to Auch dipped into the valley. When we were already half way down this descent the innkeeper suddenly stretched out his hand and caught my rein. ‘This way!’ he said. I saw that he would have me turn into a by-path leading south-westwards--a mere track, faint and little trodden and encroached on by trees, which led I knew not whither. I checked my horse. ‘Why?’ I said rebelliously. ‘Do you think I do not know the road? The road we are in is the way to Auch.’ ‘To Auch--yes,’ he answered bluntly. ‘But we are not going to Auch,’ ‘Whither then?’ I said angrily. ‘You will see presently,’ he replied with an ugly smile. ‘Yes, but I will know now!’ I retorted, passion getting the better of me. ‘I have come so far with you. You will find it more easy to take me farther if you tell me your plans.’ ‘You are a fool!’ he cried with a snarl. ‘Not so,’ I answered. ‘I ask only to know whither I am going.’ ‘Into Spain,’ he said. ‘Will that satisfy you?’ ‘And what will you do with me there?’ I asked, my heart giving a great bound. ‘Hand you over to some friends of ours,’ he answered curtly, ‘if you behave yourself. If not, there is a shorter way, and one that will save us some travelling. Make up your mind, Monsieur. Which shall it be?’