He climbed up the banks of the river, but now could see neither Ernanton nor his own horse.  But while he stood there, full of sinister thoughts toward Ernanton, he saw him reappear from the cross-road, leading the runaway horse, which he had made a detour to catch.  At this sight St. Maline was full of joy and even of gratitude; but gradually his face clouded again as he thought of the superiority of Ernanton over himself, for he knew that in the same situation he should not even have thought of acting in a similar manner.

He stammered out thanks, to which Ernanton paid no attention, then furiously seized the reins of his horse and mounted again.  They rode on silently till about half-past two, when they saw a man walking with a dog by his side.  Ernanton passed him; but St. Maline, hoping to be more clever, rode up to him and said, “Traveler, do you expect something?”

The man looked at him.  Certainly his aspect was not agreeable.  His face still bore marks of anger, and the mud half dried on his clothes and the blood on his cheeks, and his hand extended more in menace than interrogation, all seemed very sinister to the traveler.

“If I expect something,” said he, “it is not some one; and if I expect some one, it is not you.”

“You are impolite,” said St. Maline, giving way to the anger that he had restrained so long; and as he spoke he raised his hand armed with a cane to strike the traveler, but he, with his stick, struck St. Maline on the shoulder, while the dog rushed at him, tearing his clothes, as well as his horse’s legs.

The horse, irritated by the pain, rushed furiously on.  St. Maline could not stop him for some time, but he kept his seat.  They passed thus before Ernanton, who took no notice.  At last St. Maline succeeded in quieting his horse, and they rode on again in silence till Ernanton said:  “There is he whom we seek waiting for us.”

CHAPTER XXIX.

St. Maline.

Ernanton was not deceived; the man he saw was really Chicot.  He on his side had seen the cavaliers coming, and suspecting that it was for him that they came, waited for them.

Ernanton and St. Maline looked at each other.

“Speak, monsieur, if you wish,” said Ernanton to his adversary.

St. Maline was suffocated by this courtesy, he could not speak, he could only bend his head; then Ernanton, advancing said, to Chicot—­

“Monsieur, would it be indiscreet to inquire your name?”

“I am called ‘the Shade.’”

“Do you expect anything?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Will you be good enough to tell us what?”

“A letter.”

“From where?”

“From the Louvre.”

“Sealed with what seal?”

“The royal seal.”

Ernanton put his hand into the breast of his doublet and drew out a letter.