Desmond was silent.  He could not but agree with what his friend said, and had himself considered that it was a most unwise step for James to appear in the field, fighting against his countrymen.

“I don’t think I am strong enough to argue, Philip,” he said with a smile, after a long pause, “and I don’t mean to give you a victory, when I am fighting under disadvantages.  The Stuarts certainly never did any special benefit to Ireland, and assuredly brought ruin and misery upon us; and at the present moment, I don’t seem able to explain why we should be so devoted to the cause of these Scottish Stuarts, rather than to that of Anne, who is, after all, of the same family and race.  However, we will fight it out when my brain is not so dull as it is at present.”

They slept the next night at Pontoise, having made a somewhat short journey, though Desmond protested that he felt quite equal to going on to Paris.

“You are a good deal better today, Desmond, but there is no hurry, and we will take matters quietly.  If you continue to make improvement we shall be able, in another day or two, to travel faster; and I hope that, before we get to the end of our journey, you will be strong enough to sit your horse for a few miles each day.”

They made no stay in Paris, but proceeded on their way, the morning after their arrival.  Melun and Montargis were their next halting places.  Desmond was gaining strength rapidly.  His good spirits were returning, and at their evening halt, he had been able to recite the history of his escape from England.  His wound had a less angry appearance, and on the day of their leaving Montargis the horses, at his request, occasionally broke into a trot for a mile or two.

“You are looking paler.  I think the motion is too much for you,” Philip said after one of these occasions, when they again settled down to a walking pace.

“I feel a bit tired, Philip, but one must make a beginning, and I shall never get strong unless I begin to use my muscles.  At present, I acknowledge I feel as if I had been beaten all over with sticks, but I have no doubt that I shall shake this off, after a bit.”

This was indeed the case, and on the last three days of their journey to Pointdexter, he sat his horse for two or three hours.  Philip had, on the last day, sent on one of his men to inform the baron that he would arrive that evening with Desmond, and as they were seen approaching, the baron and his daughter came out from the chateau, and welcomed them as they alighted.

“Do not upset the young fellow by appearing shocked at his appearance,” the former had said to Anne.  “It was certainly a blow, this morning, to hear that he had lost his left hand, and that the greater portion of the journey had had to be performed in a litter, so you must expect to find him greatly pulled down.  But see, they are breaking into a trot, so he has evidently gained strength on the way.”