The road now was deserted. The last of the fugitives formed but a cloud of black specks on the line of the horizon far off toward Brussels. From the hayfield there came the merry sound of women's laughter, while far away cannon and musketry still roared. And over the long, straight road—bordered with straight poplar trees—the setting sun threw ever-lengthening shadows.
Maurice opened his eyes.
"Where am I?" he asked again.
"Close to Brussels now," replied Bobby.
"To Brussels?" murmured St. Genis feebly. "Crystal!"
"Yes," assented Bobby. "Crystal! God bless her!" Then as St. Genis was trying to move, he added: "Can you shift a little?"
"I think so," replied the other.
"If you could ease the pressure on my leg . . . steady, now! steady! . . . Can you sit up in the saddle? . . . Are you hurt? . . ."
"Not much. My head aches terribly. I must have hit it against something. But that is all. I am only dizzy and sick."
"Could you ride on to Brussels alone, think you?"