“Mon Gyu!” gasped Judi, and we waved our hands and rode on, leaving them gaping.

Then it would be—­

“Mon Gyu! That’s all right!  Here are Charles Hamon and Nancy Godfray come together at last.  And high time too!  They’ve been beating about the bush till we’re all tired of watching them.  B’jou, Nancy!  B’jou, Charles!  All joy to you!”

There were many such meetings, for we could see the riders’ heads bobbing in every lane.  And twice we met young Torode, galloping at speed, and showing to great advantage on Black Boy, whose ruffled black coat was streaked with sweat and splashed with foam, and who was evidently not enjoying himself at all.

“I’m getting the devil out of him so that he’ll be all quiet for the afternoon,” cried Torode, as he sped past us one time.  And Gray Robin tried to look after his mate, and jogged comfortably along thanking his stars that if he did feel somewhat of a fool, he had decent quiet folk on his back, and was not as badly off as some he knew that day.

So we came along the horse tracks down by Pointe Robert and crossed the head of the Harbour Road, past Derrible, and heard the sea growling at the bottom of the Creux, and then over Hog’s Back into Dixcart Valley, and so, about noon, into the road over the Common which led to the Coupee.

Most of our friends were already there,—­some on this side waiting to cross, the more venturesome sitting in the heather and bracken on the farther side, with jokes and laughter and ironical invitations to the laggards to take their courage in their hands and come over.

There was quite a mob in the roadway on the Common, the girls sitting on their horses, most of the men on foot.

“How is the path?” I asked, as I got down for a look.

“I’ve seen it better and I’ve seen it worse,” said Charles Vaudin.  “But, all the same, you know,—­on horseback—­” and he shook his head doubtfully.

“When it’s only your own feet you have to look after it’s right enough,” said Elie Guerin.  “But when it’s a horse’s and they’re four feet apart it’s a different kind of game.  I’m going to lead over, let those others say what they will.  Will you walk, Judi, or will you ride?  I can lead the old boy all right.”

“I can trust you, mon gars,” said the girl, and kept her seat while Elie led the horse slowly and cautiously over the narrow way, with possible death in every foot of it.  And all the rest watched anxiously.

The path was at this time about four feet wide in most places, crumbly and weather-worn here and there, but safe enough for ordinary foot traffic.  But even so—­without a rail on either side, with the blue sea foaming and chafing among the rocks three hundred feet below, and horribly visible on both sides at once—­the twisted path when you were on it felt no more than a swinging thread.

It was not every head that could stand it, and small blame to those that could not.