“And how came he here?”

“And where is Etienne Arnaud?”

“He has stabbed Etienne.  See the great cut in the coat!”

“Ay; and see the colour of his hand!  He has stabbed him, and taken his coat and hat.”

“What! while we were all within stone’s cast!”

“Ay; there is no other way out of it.”

“By my soul!” cried old Despard, “I had never much love for old Etienne, but I have emptied a cup of wine with him before now, and I shall see that he has justice.  Let us cast these reins round the fellow’s neck and hang him upon this tree.”

Several pairs of hands were already unbuckling the harness of the dead horse, when De Vivonne pushed his way into the little group, and with a few curt words checked their intended violence.

“It is as much as your lives are worth to touch him,” said he.

“But he has slain Etienne Arnaud.”

“That score may be settled afterwards.  To-night he is the king’s messenger.  Is the other all safe?”

“Yes, he is here.”

“Tie this man, and put him in beside him.  Unbuckle the traces of the dead horse.  So!  Now, De Carnac, put your own into the harness.  You can mount the box and drive, for we have not very far to go.”

The changes were rapidly made; Amos Green was thrust in beside De Catinat, and the carriage was soon toiling up the steep incline which it had come down so precipitately.  The American had said not a word since his capture, and had remained absolutely stolid, with his hands crossed over his chest whilst his fate was under discussion.  Now that he was alone once more with his comrade, however, he frowned and muttered like a man who feels that fortune has used him badly.

“Those infernal horses!” he grumbled.  “Why, an American horse would have taken to the water like a duck.  Many a time have I swum my old stallion Sagamore across the Hudson.  Once over the river, we should have had a clear lead to Paris.”

“My dear friend,” cried De Catinat, laying his manacled hands upon those of his comrade, “can you forgive me for speaking as I did upon the way from Versailles?”

“Tut, man!  I never gave it a thought.”

“You were right a thousand times, and I was, as you said, a fool—­a blind, obstinate fool.  How nobly you have stood by me!  But how came you there?  Never in my life have I been so astonished as when I saw your face.”

Amos Green chuckled to himself.  “I thought that maybe it would be a surprise to you if you knew who was driving you,” said he.  “When I was thrown from my horse I lay quiet, partly because I wanted to get a grip of my breath, and partly because it seemed to me to be more healthy to lie than to stand with all those swords clinking in my ears.  Then they all got round you, and I rolled into the ditch, crept along it, got on the cross-road in the shadow of the trees, and was beside the carriage before ever they knew that I was gone.  I saw in a flash that there was only one way by which I could be of use to you.  The coachman was leaning round with his head turned to see what was going on behind him.  I out with my knife, sprang up on the front wheel, and stopped his tongue forever.”