And the others cared nothing.  But the thought that if left to myself I should have fallen into the Vidame’s cunning trap filled me with new hatred towards him; such hatred and such fear—­for there was humiliation mingled with them—­as I had scarcely felt before.  I brooded over this, barely noticing what passed in our company for hours—­nay, not until the next day when, towards evening, the cry arose round me that we were within sight of Cahors.  Yes, there it lay below us, in its shallow basin, surrounded by gentle hills.  The domes of the cathedral, the towers of the Vallandre Bridge, the bend of the Lot, where its stream embraces the town—­I knew them all.  Our long journey was over.

And I had but one idea.  I had some time before communicated to Croisette the desperate design I had formed—­to fall upon Bezers and kill him in the midst of his men in the last resort.  Now the time had come if the thing was ever to be done:  if we had not left it too long already.  And I looked about me.  There was some confusion and jostling as we halted on the brow of the hill, while two men were despatched ahead to announce the governor’s arrival, and Bure, with half a dozen spears, rode out as an advanced guard.

The road where we stood was narrow, a shallow cutting winding down the declivity of the hills.  The horses were tired, It was a bad time and place for my design, and only the coming night was in my favour.  But I was desperate.

Yet before I moved or gave a signal which nothing could recall, I scanned the landscape eagerly, scrutinizing in turn the small, rich plain below us, warmed by the last rays of the sun, the bare hills here glowing, there dark, the scattered wood-clumps and spinneys that filled the angles of the river, even the dusky line of helm-oaks that crowned the ridge beyond—­Caylus way.  So near our own country there might be help!  If the messenger whom we had despatched to the Vicomte before leaving home had reached him, our uncle might have returned, and even be in Cahors to meet us.

But no party appeared in sight:  and I saw no place where an ambush could be lying.  I remembered that no tidings of our present plight or of what had happened could have reached the Vicomte.  The hope faded out of life as soon as despair had given it birth.  We must fend for ourselves and for Kit.

That was my justification.  I leaned from my saddle towards Croisette—­I was riding by his side—­and muttered, as I felt my horse’s head and settled myself firmly in the stirrups, “You remember what I said?  Are you ready?”

He looked at me in a startled way, with a face showing white in the shadow:  and from me to the one solitary figure seated like a pillar a score of paces in front with no one between us and it.  “There need be but two of us,” I muttered, loosening my sword.  “Shall it be you or Marie?  The others must leap their horses out of the road in the confusion, cross the river at the Arembal Ford if they are not overtaken, and make for Caylus.”