and white foam scattered around.

"A thousand million curses!" he exclaimed. "Citizen Bibot, your head
will pay for this treachery. Which way did they go?"

A dozen hands were ready to point in the direction where the merry party
of carriers had disappeared half an hour ago; a dozen tongues gave
rapid, confused explanations.

"Into it, my men!" shouted the officer; "they were on foot! They can't
have gone far. Remember the Republic has offered ten thousand francs for
the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Already the heavy gates had been swung open, and the officer's voice
once more rang out clear through a perfect thunder-clap of fast
galloping hoofs:

"Ventre a terre! Remember!--ten thousand francs to him who first sights
the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

The thunder-clap died away in the distance, the dust of four score hoofs
was merged in the fog and in the darkness; the voice of the captain was
raised again through the mist-laden air. One shout...a shout of
triumph...then silence once again.

Bibot had fainted on the heap of debris.

His comrades brought him wine to drink. He gradually revived. Hope came
back to his heart; his nerves soon steadied themselves as the heavy
beverage filtrated through into his blood.