“How far do you suppose this inn, the Lion d’Or, is along the road yonder?” he asked suddenly.

“Not a mile,” was the answer.

Barrington nodded thoughtfully.  Seth’s opinion agreed with his own.

“Sabatier, no doubt, came from there,” he said after a pause.

“Probably.  We were wise to miss it.  It would not have been convenient to enter Paris in his company.”

There was another pause of some duration.

“Has he been out hunting, stopping aristocrats?”

It was hardly a question, rather a speculation unconsciously put into words.

Seth shrugged his shoulders.

“It does not concern us.  They may fully merit the hunting and deserve whatever fate they meet with.  I am not in love with the patriots I have encountered, nor do I like the aristocrats I have seen any better.  For my part I would as lief sail back to Virginia and let them fight out their own quarrel.  A dog of breed has no cause to interfere in a fight between curs.”

“I wonder whether we have passed mademoiselle and her escort upon the road,” said Barrington.

“What’s in your mind, Master Richard?” asked Seth, sharply.

“I have thought it strange that we did not overtake them.”

“Better horses, or better knowledge of the country would account for that.”

“Yes, but she may be at the Lion d’Or at this moment, and in the hands of men like Sabatier.”

There was no need for Seth to ask questions.  The burden of anxiety which had slipped from him was suddenly at his feet again and he took it up reluctantly.  Barrington understood.

“I cannot go on leaving her in such hands,” he said.  “Think what it may mean.  We know something of Sabatier.”

Seth nodded, but with no encouragement.  Had he known more of Jacques Sabatier, could he have seen the heap of ashes which had once been the inn at Tremont and known what was hidden beneath them, his attitude would have been different.

“There may be much to excuse her for not believing in me,” Barrington went on.  “We know only a little of the story.  We may have been the bearers of a lying message.  With her knowledge of facts, every word I uttered may only have convicted me of greater villainy.  We have hardly been just, Seth.”

“I can find no excuse for her sending us to the wood.”

“I can, Seth.  Such a scoundrel as she may have thought me was not fit to live.  More than her own safety was at stake.”

“Well, Master Richard?”

“I am going to the Lion d’Or.”

Seth moved his shoulders, it was not a shrug, but as though he would get the burden he carried into as easy a position as possible.

“We are hardly likely to meet with such good luck a second time.  We escaped from the wood end, but”