to hide from the huntsman that would not be long in coming. And ere
the last of them was out of sight there arose a stamping of hoofs
and a chorus of angry voices. Down tine street thundered the
Marquis's cavalcade, brought back by the servant who had escaped and
who had ridden after them. Some anger there was - particularly in
the heart of the Lord of Bellecour - but greater than their anger
was their excitement at the prospect of a man-hunt, with which the
chase on which they had been originally bent made but a poor
comparison.

"There he is, Monseigneur" cried Jean, as he pointed to La Boulaye.
"And yonder are the girl and her husband."

"Ah! The secretary again, eh?" laughed the nobleman, grimly, as he
came nearer. "Ma foi, life must have grown wearisome to him. Secure
the woman, Jean."

Caron stood before him, pale in his impotent rage, which was directed
as much against the peasants who had fled as against the nobles who
approached. Had these clods but stood there, and defended themselves
and their manhood with sticks and stones and such weapons as came to
their hands, they might have taken pride in being trampled beneath
the hoofs of the Seigneurie. Thus, at least, might they have proved
themselves men. But to fly thus - some fifty of them from the
approach of less than a score - was to confess unworthiness of a
better fate than that of which their seigneurs rendered themselves
the instruments.

Himself he could do no more than the single shot in his pistol would
allow. That much, however, he would do, and like him whose resources