"Monsieur d'Aubrac has been wounded, a knife thrust. It will be
necessary to get him to a surgeon as quickly as possible. I fancy there
will be none nearer than Nant. Do you know the way?"

"One can doubtless find it," said Duchemin modestly. "But I myself am
not without knowledge of wounds. Perhaps..."

"If monsieur would be so good."

Duchemin knelt beside the man, who welcomed him with open eyes and a
wry smile that was almost as faint as his voice.

"It is nothing, monsieur--a clean cut in the arm, with some loss of
blood."

"But let me see."

The young girl in whose lap rested the head of Monsieur d'Aubrac sat
back and watched Duchemin with curious, grave eyes in which traces of
moisture glimmered.

"Had the animal at my mercy, I thought," d'Aubrac apologised, "when
suddenly he drew that knife, stuck me and broke away."

"I understand," Duchemin replied. "But don't talk. You'll want all your
strength, my friend."

With his pocket-knife he laid open the sodden sleeves of coat and
shirt, exposing an upper arm stained dark with blood that welled in