The unfortunate guardsman had now entirely recovered his senses, and found himself with a strap round his ankles, and another round his wrists, a captive inside a moving prison which lumbered heavily along the country road.  He had been stunned by the shock of his fall, and his leg was badly bruised by the weight of his horse; but the cut on his forehead was a mere trifle, and the bleeding had already ceased.  His mind, however, pained him more than his body.  He sank his head into his pinioned hands, and stamped madly with his feet, rocking himself to and fro in his despair.  What a fool, a treble fool, he had been!  He, an old soldier, who had seen something of war, to walk with open eyes into such a trap!  The king had chosen him of all men, as a trusty messenger, and yet he had failed him—­and failed him so ignominiously, without shot fired or sword drawn.  He was warned, too, warned by a young man who knew nothing of court intrigue, and who was guided only by the wits which Nature had given him.  De Catinat dashed himself down upon the leather cushion in the agony of his thoughts.

But then came a return of that common-sense which lies so very closely beneath the impetuosity of the Celt.  The matter was done now, and he must see if it could not be mended.  Amos Green had escaped.  That was one grand point in his favour.  And Amos Green had heard the king’s message, and realised its importance.  It was true that he knew nothing of Paris, but surely a man who could pick his way at night through the forests of Maine would not be baulked in finding so well-known a house as that of the Archbishop of Paris.  But then there came a sudden thought which turned De Catinat’s heart to lead.  The city gates were locked at eight o’clock in the evening.  It was now nearly nine.  It would have been easy for him, whose uniform was a voucher for his message, to gain his way through.  But how could Amos Green, a foreigner and a civilian, hope to pass?  It was impossible, clearly impossible.  And yet, somehow, in spite of the impossibility, he still clung to a vague hope that a man so full of energy and resource might find some way out of the difficulty.

And then the thought of escape occurred to his mind.  Might he not even now be in time, perhaps, to carry his own message?  Who were these men who had seized him?  They had said nothing to give him a hint as to whose tools they were.  Monsieur and the dauphin occurred to his mind.  Probably one or the other.  He had only recognised one of them, old Major Despard, a man who frequented the low wine-shops of Versailles, and whose sword was ever at the disposal of the longest purse.  And where were these people taking him to?  It might be to his death.  But if they wished to do away with him, why should they have brought him back to consciousness? and why this carriage and drive?  Full of curiosity, he peered out of the windows.