“You forget,” interrupted Letourge dryly, “that M. de Marsan is a prisoner.”
“And in my charge,” said Fronsac proudly. “M. le Comte entrusts him to me. I will answer for him.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I said, my face aglow with pleasure. “I shall not forget your kindness. When do we set out?”
“At once!” cried Fronsac, and clapped spur to flank.
With a last glance at Letourge, who was looking at us with amused eyes, I sped after him, and in a moment we were past the troop and with only the open road before us. Neck and neck we went for half an hour or more, my heart bounding at the rapid motion, and then we drew rein to give our mounts a breathing-spell.
“What a chance!” cried my companion, lifting his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. “Do you know, Marsan, there is an adventure before us? I believe we shall reach the château ahead of Roquefort and his rascals!”
“I trust so,” I said. “It would be a privilege to be in time to warn Madame.”
“And Mademoiselle,” he added.
“Of course, and Mademoiselle,” I assented, smiling to myself.
“Then come!” he cried, “spur on again!”