Assuring himself that Saint-Ermay was close at his heels, he started to run down the starlit road. His own footfalls filled his ears with a horrid sense of their betraying loudness, and it was not for a minute or so that he realised the growing faintness of those behind. When he did so he looked over his shoulder, and then stopped in astonishment. Louis, now some ten yards behind, had dropped to a walk, and a leisurely one at that. He went quickly back towards him.
“I thought you were a good runner,” was on his lips, instead of which he cried sharply: “What’s the matter?”
“Go on without me,” said the Vicomte breathlessly. “I—I really can come no further.” He staggered a little as he spoke; one hand was clutching at his left breast.
A quick fear shot into the Marquis’ mind. “Are you hurt, my dear boy?” he asked anxiously, taking a step towards him, for he looked as though he would fall.
“He had a knife . . .” said Louis faintly but succinctly, and with the words reeled sideways into his cousin’s arms.
CHAPTER XX
A KNIFE WITH TWO EDGES
“I must not think of thee. . . .
. . . . . . . .
But when sleep comes to close the difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,