“But Babillon could have given us news of how matters stand at the gates and a hundred other things,” replied Gerard uneasily.
“All of which we shall now have to find out for ourselves instead,” and learning where he was likely to procure horses, Pascal went off on his search. He was soon back, riding one horse and leading another.
“The city is much quieter this morning. I had a talk with the man where I got these,” he reported, “and he says all the soldiers who were searching the city have been recalled to the Castle.”
“And about the gates?”
“He knew nothing, and I could ask no more than a general question, or I might have stirred suspicion. Now, Madame Burgher,” he said to Lucette, and there was some laughing between them over settling her in the pillion. But Gerard was in no mood to see any objects for jesting, and Gabrielle was so pale and anxious that Lucette declared it was a good thing indeed no more of her features could be seen.
“Now for a bold face on things and a laugh if you can, Lucette,” cried Pascal, “and we’ll soon see whether an honest burgher and his wife cannot ride abroad together in this uncomfortable fashion on a fine July morning.”
They rode slowly toward the city gate, Gerard and Gabrielle following some distance behind. Pascal laughed and gestured over his shoulder to Lucette, until coming in sight of the gate he said exultantly—
“God be thanked, it’s open, Lucette. We shan’t be husband and wife much longer, if all goes well.”
“A thought which seems to give you consummate relief,” she answered.
“Aye, the responsibilities of a husband weigh heavily on me, good wife—as heavily, maybe, as the double burden on this good patient beast. Good morning, monsieur,” he broke off, as a soldier stepped in the way and held up his hand. But Pascal made no effort to check the horse, and was passing on with a nod and a smile when the man laid a hand on the bridle and brought the horse to a stop.