The road ascended and the forest became deeper.  No houses were now in sight.  As the morning advanced it had grown warmer under a brilliant sun, but it was pleasant here in the shade.  Julie still walked, showing no sign of a wish for the cart again.  John noticed that she was very strong, or at least very enduring.  Suddenly he felt a great obligation to take care of her for the sake of Lannes.  The sister of his comrade-in-arms was a precious trust in his hands, and he must not fail.

The wind shifted and blew toward the east, no longer bringing the sound of guns.  Instead they heard a bird now and then, chattering or singing in a tree.  The illusion of the Middle Ages returned to John.  They were a peaceful troupe, going upon a peaceful errand.

“Don’t tell me there isn’t a castle at Menouville,” he said.  “I know there is, although I’ve never been there, and I never heard of the place before.  When we arrive the drawbridge will be down and the portcullis up.  All the men-at-arms will have burnished their armor brightly and will wait respectfully in parallel rows to welcome us as we pass between.  His Grace, the Duke of Light Heart, in a suit of red velvet will be standing on the steps, and Her Graciousness, the Duchess, in a red brocade dress, with her hair powdered and very high on her head, will be by his side to greet our merry troupe.  Behind them will be all the ducal children, and the knights and squires and pages, and ladies.  I think they will all be very glad to see us, because in these Middle Ages of ours, life, even in a great ducal castle, is somewhat lonely.  Visitors are too rare, and there is not the variety of interest that even the poor will have in a later time.”

“You make believe well, Mr. Scott,” she said.

“There is inspiration,” he said, glancing at her.  “We are here in the deeps of an ancient wood, and perhaps the stories and legends of these old lands move the Americans more than they do the people who live here.  We’re the children of Europe and when we look back to the land of our fathers we often see it through a kind of glorified mist.”

“The wind is shifting again,” she said.  “I hear the cannon once more.”

“So do I, and I hear something else too!  Was that the sound of hoofs?”

John turned in sudden alarm to Legare, who heard also and stiffened at once to attention.  They were not alone on the road.  The rapid beat of hoofs came, and around a corner galloped a mass of Uhlans, helmets and lances glittering.  Picard with a shout of warning fired his rifle into the thick of them.  Legare snatched out his revolver and fired also.

But they had no chance.  The little detachment was ridden down in an instant.  Legare and half of the men died gallantly.  The rest were taken.  Picard had been brought to his knees by a tremendous blow from the butt of a lance, and John, who had instinctively sprung before Julie, was overpowered.  Suzanne, who endeavored to reach a weapon, fought like a tigress, but two Uhlans finally subdued her.