"But I fancied I saw him again near Mons."
"And I, madame, am sure I saw him just before we entered Brussels."
"Brussels?"
"Yes; but he must have stopped there."
"Remy," said Diana, drawing near him, as if even on that lonely road she feared to be overheard, "did he not seem to you like (in figure, at least, for I did not see his face) that unhappy young man?"
"Oh! no, madame, not at all; and besides, how could he have guessed that we had left Paris, and were traveling along this road?"
"But he found us out when we changed our house in Paris."
"No, madame, I am sure he did not follow us; and, indeed, I believe he had resolved on a desperate course as regards himself."
"Alas! Remy, every one has his own share of suffering. I trust God will console this poor youth."
Remy replied with a sigh, and they went on with no other sound than that of their horses' feet on the hard road. Two hours passed thus. Just as they were about to enter Vilvoide, Remy turned his head, for he heard the sound of horses' feet behind them. He stopped and listened, but could see nothing. His eyes uselessly tried to pierce through the darkness of the night, and as he no longer heard any sounds, they rode on and entered the town.