"Where is he? Get him out, some of you!" cried the coachman as he
seized the reins close to the bit.

By this time a couple of stout gendarmes and two or three soldiers
of the Antibes legion had made their way to the front and were
dragging away the fallen cab-horse. A tall, thin, elderly
gentleman, of a somewhat sour countenance, descended from the
carriage and stooped over the injured soldier.

"It is only a Zouave, Excellency," said the coachman, with a sort
of sigh of relief.

The tall gentleman lifted Gouache's head a little so that the
light from the carriage-lamp fell upon his face. He was quite
insensible, and there was blood upon his pale forehead and white
cheeks. One of the gendarmes came forward.

"We will take care of him, Signore," he said, touching his three-
cornered hat. "But I must beg to know your revered name," he
added, in the stock Italian phrase. "Capira--I am very sorry--but
they say your horses--"

"Put him into my carriage," answered the elderly gentleman
shortly. "I am the Principe Montevarchi."

"But, Excellency--the Signorina---" protested the coachman. The
prince paid no attention to the objection and helped the gendarme
to deposit Anastase in the interior of the vehicle. Then he gave
the man a silver scudo.