"Which way?"

"They made for the right," faltered one of the wounded men.

"Is it long?"

"No; a few moments."

"They can not get far," said the gendarme with the broken pate; "the
two girls were struggling hard with him."

"Hurrah!" cried Harvey. "I'll save my child yet."

"You are not the first in the hunt," said the other gendarme, speaking
with evident pain; "there are two black men after them."

"That must be Sunday and Monday," exclaimed Harvey.

And off he ran.

He bounded over the ground like a deer, and when he got about half a
mile further on, he came suddenly upon two men struggling.

One of them was a negro.

Who, in fact, but our old friend the Prince of Limbi, the faithful
Monday?

The other was one of the Greeks, a face unknown to Harvey, but one who