Feeling in my pockets I found a couple of cigars in my case, and lighted one to think over things. I was smoking it with a rare relish when I saw Mademoiselle coming from the direction of the river with Chris in close attendance. How the old rascal had taken to her! I went to meet them; and as I approached, the dog came running to fawn upon me and then rushed back to fawn upon her; and looked from one to the other of us as though our comradeship, as she had termed it, was just the loveliest thing in the world to him.
“Chris seems to approve our comradeship, Mademoiselle,” I said, marvelling how on earth she managed to look so fresh and sweet after her rough-and-tumble experiences during the last forty hours. Her soft, glossy hair was as neatly arranged as though she had just come from her room, her dress was in such order that so far as I could see not a thing was out of place.
“He has been with me to the river on guard. I had no idea it was so difficult to wash in a river, and to do one’s hair out of doors and without a glass.”
“You have been very successful. You put me to shame sadly,” and I glanced down in dismay at myself. “And you are so bright and sunny.”
“There is good news. Our luck has turned. Karasch found a peasant who was crossing the hills and is learning from him our route. They are on the hill yonder.”
“Thank God for that,” I said, fervently.
“Yes, I suppose it is good news,” she replied in a tone which made me glance quickly at her. Then she added, after a pause: “You look much better for your rest, Burgwan.”
“I feel a different man.”
“Kindly disposed toward masterful rebels?”
“Yes; and very grateful to one of them.”