The road was now open, and, keeping as far from the slope as possible, I stretched my horse to his utmost speed.  It was a mad gallop, with the risk of a sudden and violent death in every foot of the road.  My pursuers were not far behind, but I dared not look round.  My limbs shook, the sweat poured in streams down my face; I could not think, I could only sit firm and leave my fate in the hands of Providence.

[Illustration:  “I stretched my horse to his utmost speed.”]

My poor horse bounded along like a crazy thing, but he kept his footing, though every moment I expected him to tumble headlong.  The men behind must have ridden more warily, for the sound of hoofs, though still audible, became more faint and indistinct.

I could have cried aloud in joyful triumph as my gallant horse flew out from the narrow pass on to the broad road.  My pursuers were now far in the rear, and I had a moment to think.  Whoever they were, they knew I had come from Le Blanc, and would expect me to return there.  My best plan was to let them pass, and then go back in search of Jacques.  Even to save my own life I must not desert my trusty servant.

In a few seconds I had formed my plan, and acted upon it.  Leaving the highroad, I struck into the open country, and dismounting, concealed my horse in a hollow.  Several minutes passed before the two horsemen came galloping by, evidently bent on following me to Le Blanc.

As soon as they had gone out of hearing, I mounted again and returned quickly but cautiously to the spot where the startling struggle had taken place.  Casimir still lay where he had fallen, by the side of his horse.  The second animal had disappeared, but its rider was huddled against the wall groaning, and talking as if in delirium.

“It was not my fault, monsieur,” he was saying, “Casimir bungled it; he struck too soon.”

His head had evidently been dashed with great violence against the wall and I could do little for him.  Besides, there was my servant to be considered.  Tying my horse securely, I advanced to the edge of the slope, and cried aloud, “Jacques!  Jacques!”

There was no answer, and my heart sank as I thought how likely it was that the poor fellow lay there dead, killed by the terrible fall.  I found the spot where his horse had slipped, and groped my way down, still calling his name.  And at last I heard a feeble “I am here, monsieur!”

“Where?” I cried, “where?” and, guided by the sound of his voice, I made my way toward him.

He was half lying, half sitting at the foot of a chestnut tree, and at my approach he struggled to his feet.

“I am coming round, monsieur,” he said in a whisper, “I must have been stunned.  I do not know what happened; I think I must have been thrown against a tree.”

“Sit down,” I commanded, “and rest while I find the horse and get your pistols; they may be useful.”

The poor beast had rolled to the bottom of the slope, and was, of course, quite dead; so I removed the pistols and returned to Jacques hastily.