‘We do not now require your aid,’ was the reply. ‘Messieurs,—en route!’
The guard prepared to mount, when one of them rode, apparently in a great feeling of insecurity, through the little knot of patrol, and approached Desgrais. The lights revealed the form and features of Maître Picard.
‘Monsieur,’ said the little bourgeois, ‘I fear my horse is tired. I will therefore form one of the escort to take the prisoner to the Châtelet.’
‘I fear we cannot spare you just yet, mon brave,’ said Desgrais. ‘You are the only member of the Garde Bourgeois with us, and we may need your authority after mine. You must come on at present.’
Maître Picard groaned as he turned his horse’s bridle back again. He was evidently ill at ease in the saddle. He could just touch the stirrups—the leathers of which were much too long for him—with the tips of his toes; and as he had not crossed a horse since his grand progress to Versailles, he complained that the action of the present steed was somewhat too vigorous for him. But he was obliged to obey the orders of the exempt, and fell into the rear accordingly.
‘A country cart, drawn by one horse, and covered with a tilt, is the object of our chase,’ said Desgrais. ‘It cannot be ten minutes before us. Forward!’
The majority of the guard set off at a smart trot along the hollow way, whilst those who remained placed their prisoners between them, and prepared to return by the Porte du Temple to Paris.
CHAPTER XXIX.
PHILIPPE AVAILS HIMSELF OF MAÎTRE PICARD’S HORSE FOR THE MARCHIONESS
Philippe Glazer made the best use of the time taken up in the enactment of this hurried scene. Urging the horse on, he had already left the scattered houses of La Villette behind them, and was now in the open country, hastening as fast as the snow would permit towards Le Bourget, at which village he had an acquaintance who would give him and his companion temporary shelter, and lend him a fresh horse, if requisite. The road was long and straight, and any light could be seen at a great distance. As they proceeded, still in silence, Marie kept watching from the back of the tumbrel, to give the student the first alarm of any indications of pursuit.
‘Philippe,’ at length she exclaimed in a low voice, as though she thought it would be heard in the extreme distance, ‘they are coming! I can see the lights at La Villette moving. Exili has betrayed us; what must be done?’