"What is it, Monsieur?" cried his son.
"My papers."
We set him down, and the three of us examined him from top to toe, stripping off his steel coat, pulling apart his blood-clotted linen, prying into his very boots. But no papers revealed themselves.
"What were they, Monsieur?"
A drawn look had come over Monsieur's face.
"Papers which the king gave me, and which I, fool and traitor, have lost."
I ran back to the spot where we had found Huguet; there was his hat on the ground, but no papers. I followed up the red trail to its beginning, looking behind every stone, every bunch of grass; but no papers. In my desperation I even pulled about the dead man, lest the packet had been covered, falling from Huguet in the fray. The two gentlemen joined me in the search, and we went over every inch of the ground, but to no purpose.
"I thought them safer with Huguet than with me," Monsieur groaned. "I knew we ran the risk of ambush. Myself would be the object of attack; I bade Huguet, were we waylaid, to run with the papers."
"And of course he would not."
"He should; it was my command. He stayed and saved my life perhaps, and lost me what is dearer than life—my honour."