“There cannot be many of them,” said Henri, “and what there are, are all mounted.  They are the German hussars; I know them by their brazen helmets.  They won’t attempt to follow us through the woods.”

“They would have been after us before now had they intended doing so,” said de Lescure.  “The way was clear for them through the farm-yard, Francois, was it not?”

“No, Monseigneur,” said Francois.  “It was anything but clear.  I turned the big bull out of his stall into the yard as I came out, and closed the gate behind me:  he would gore a dozen of them before they could make their way through.”

Whether the pursuit was arrested by the bull, or prevented by any other cause, the fugitives were not interrupted.  They walked wearily and painfully, but yet patiently, and without a complaint above a league, before the women ventured to get upon the waggon.  They then got out upon the road to Bressuire, at no great distance from that town, and on reaching Bressuire they got refreshment and proper clothes, and hired a voiture for the remainder of their journey.

Marie had hardly spoken from the moment when Henri dragged her from her bed, to that in which he helped her in the waggon; but after she had been sitting for a while, she indulged in a flood of tears, which she had restrained as long as she felt that her life depended on her exertions, and then calling Henri to her side, she thanked him, as she so well knew how to do, for all he had done for her.

“You have saved my life, dearest, now,” said she, “and ten times more than my life; but I will not say that I love you better than I did before.  Had I not known that it was your arms which were around me, I must have died when that horrid countenance glared over me on the stairs.  Have I dreamt since, or was I really looking upon that face, when the agony of death came across it?” And as she asked the question, she closed her eyes, and her whole body trembled violently.

“I will tell you all that happened another time, love,” said he; “we will not talk of these things now.  A day or two at Durbelliere will restore you to your spirits, and then we will rejoice over our escape.”

They got into a voiture at Bressuire, and from thence continued their journey in something more like comfort, while Francois with the waggon followed them; but the two ladies were not destined to reach Durbelliere that night.  When they were about half-way between Bressuire and the chateau, they were met by a man on horseback, who was already on his way to Clisson.  It was Jean Stein, who was hurrying as fast as his beast could carry him from Durbelliere to M. Larochejaquelin; but instead of explaining now what was the purport of his errand, we will return to Clisson, and see how Westerman finished there the task he had undertaken.