had been fanning himself back on his head.

"Then _forward_! highly respected Councillor," returned Colonel
Philip, whistling to the dogs, that seemed already to obey him rather
than the magistrate their owner.

"Are you aware, my lord Marquis, that two leagues yet remain before
us?" inquired the malicious soldier. "That village down yonder must be
Baillet."

"Great heavens!" cried the Marquis d'Albon. "Go on to Cassan by all
means, if you like; but if you do, you will go alone. I prefer to wait
here, storm or no storm; you can send a horse for me from the chateau.
You have been making game of me, Sucy. We were to have a nice day's
sport by ourselves; we were not to go very far from Cassan, and go
over ground that I knew. Pooh! instead of a day's fun, you have kept
me running like a greyhound since four o'clock this morning, and
nothing but a cup or two of milk by way of breakfast. Oh! if ever you
find yourself in a court of law, I will take care that the day goes
against you if you were in the right a hundred times over."

The dejected sportsman sat himself down on one of the stumps at the
foot of the guide-post, disencumbered himself of his rifle and empty
game-bag, and heaved a prolonged sigh.

"Oh, France, behold thy Deputies!" laughed Colonel de Sucy. "Poor old
d'Albon; if you had spent six months at the other end of Siberia as I
did . . ."

He broke off, and his eyes sought the sky, as if the story of his