time, and left him to order out the garrison. Five minutes later he was
riding at a breakneck pace on his own fleet horse, to rouse the men who
had so short a time since been guests of the Count, to the rescue of his
daughter and her companions.

Thus it came to pass that early next morning a sentinel at Montfaucon
hurried from his watch-tower to make report to Malemort, and Malemort lost
no time in reporting to his chief. Peering from an upper window they could
see a strong force under the banner of Count Thibaut, flanked by the
devices of half Auvergne, coming at a sharp trot toward the castle. There
was neither delay nor discussion. Garin de Biterres had not found life
altogether pleasant, but he had no wish to end it with a rope around his
neck. If some peasant had carried a report of his doings to Count Thibaut
there was nothing to do but flee the vengeance now on the way, and that
instantly. Without waiting even to close the gates the whole troop of
mercenaries went galloping away. When the rescuers clattered into the
courtyard they found no one stirring save a little stout man in a cook's
apron, who was concocting something in a huge saucepan.

"I am Martin," he said to Savaric de Marsan. "I cook. But I do not cook
for cannibals, and my faith! I think that robber captain will end by
devouring his fellow-men. I have no mind to poison the food of his
enemies, either, so when they went away I hid in the great tun. I am at
your service, master."

Savaric was so much amused at the explanation that he then and there
decided to rescue Martin from further evil company and place him in his
own kitchen.

"There is some consolation for not catching Biterres," he observed to