"You are well out of that," grunted old Jean. "If he'd discovered you,
he'd have had you out and shot you!"

"He is a good shot?"

"_Mon Dieu_!" said Jean with an expressiveness which was a little
disquieting; for it was on the cards that the duke might still find me
out. And I was not a practiced shot--not at my fellow-men, I mean.
Suddenly I leaped up.

"Good Heavens!" I cried. "I forgot! The duchess wanted me. Stop, stop!"

With a jerk Jean pulled up his horse, and gazed at me.

"You can't go back like that," he said, with a grin. "You'll have to put
on these clothes again," and he pointed to the discarded suit.

"I very nearly forgot the duchess," said I. To tell the truth, I was at
first rather proud of my forgetfulness; it argued a complete triumph over
that unruly impulse at which I have hinted. But it also smote me with
remorse. I leaped to the ground.

"You must wait while I run back."

"He will shoot you after all," grinned Jean.

"The devil take him!" said I, picturing the poor duchess utterly
forsaken--at the mercy of Delhasses, husband, and what not.