For travelers going toward Paris there was less danger, aristocrats did not often make that journey.  Monsieur Mercier appeared to have thought there was no danger at all, and halted for the night, but there were travelers on the road behind him who were more cautious.  They made a wide detour by devious bypaths, and came at length to a lane which joined the Soisy road between the Lion d’Or and Paris.  They had taken care to avoid other travelers as far as possible, and even now the sound of a horse upon the main road made them draw into the shelter of some trees and wait.  Through the trees, only a few paces up the lane, they had a good view of the horseman as he came.

“Look, Seth!”

“Our swaggering friend of Tremont,” was the answer.  “There has been devil’s work along this road perchance.”

“Sabatier,” murmured Barrington.

There was no doubt of it.  He passed them at no greater distance than a stone’s throw, and he was a man too marked in features to be mistaken.  He went his way, unconscious of their presence, to carry his good news to the Rue Valette in Paris.

“There’s something in that man’s face which tells me that I shall quarrel with him some day,” said Seth.  “I can’t help feeling that I shall live to see him a corpse.”

“We must wait a little,” said Barrington.  “We must not run the risk of overtaking him.”

It was in no way a reply to or a comment on Seth’s remark, but rather the outcome of the recollection that Sabatier had said that all true patriots must needs meet with him in Paris.  Naturally, Sabatier was closely associated in Barrington’s mind with his self-imposed mission to Beauvais, and his unexpected presence here on the Soisy road set him speculating once more on the whole circumstances of his adventure.  He had had enough of women to last him a lifetime, he had declared to Seth, and he meant it.  Seth had smiled.  His companion was not the first man who had said the same thing, and yet before half the year was out had been sighing for another woman’s favor.  Richard Barrington might hold to his conviction longer than that, but there are many half years in a lifetime, and the indefinite variety of women gave few men the chance of escape.  For the present, Seth never doubted that his master had had his lesson, and was glad.  There were periods in a man’s life into which a woman should not enter, either in reality or in thought; they were but drags on the turning wheels of circumstance.  This was such a period, and Seth let a great load of anxiety slip from him as the distance between them and Beauvais increased.  Barrington’s silence as they rode did not undeceive him; his master was not a man who talked for the sake of talking, yet from the moment they had driven spurs into their horses and dashed from the wood end, Barrington had hardly ceased to speculate on his adventure.  A man does not easily forget a woman who has come to him as a revelation even though she deceive him.  The sight of Sabatier, therefore, did not recall Jeanne St. Clair to his mind, she had hardly been absent from his thoughts for a moment, but set him speculating in another direction.