“Well, get me a horse then.”
“Will monsieur come into the stables and choose one? they all belong to the duke.” Monsoreau entered. Ten or twelve fine horses, quite fresh, were feeding from the manger, which was filled with grain.
Monsoreau looked over them, and then said, “I will take this bay.”
“Roland?”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes, and it is his highness’s favorite horse. M. de Bussy gave him to the duke, and it is quite a chance that it is here to-day.”
Ronald was soon saddled, and Monsoreau rode out of the stable.
“In which direction did they start?” asked he.
The man pointed it out.
“Ma foi!” said Monsoreau, “the horse seems to know the way.”