"I will make no delay," replied the Count. "Her happiness and her safety are now committed to my charge; inestimable trusts, which I must on no account risk. But I have some followers and dependants to provide for, even here. I have some friends to defend; and I must not show myself remiss in that; or she herself would hardly love me. It were easy, methinks, however, for you and your mistress to make your escape at once to England, and for me to join you there hereafter."
"Oh no, my lord, I fear not!" replied the maid. "I do not think Monsieur de Rouvré himself would object to her marrying you and flying. He shrewdly suspects, I think, that she is Protestant at heart; but he would never yield to her flying herself. But, hark! I hear horses coming. Let us draw back and be quiet."
"There is no sound of carriage-wheels, I fear," said Clémence, listening. "Oh, Albert, all this day's sad events have quite overpowered me; and I dread the slightest sound."
The Count pressed her hand in his, and, as was usual with him in moments of danger, turned his eyes towards his sword-belt, forgetting that the blade was gone. The sound of horses' feet approaching rapidly, however, still continued; and, at length, a party of four persons, whose faces could not be well distinguished in the increasing darkness, stopped exactly opposite the spot where a little rough road led down into the hollow where the lovers were. One of the riders sprang to the ground in a moment, and, leaving his horse with the others, advanced, exclaiming aloud,--
"Hollo! Ho! Albert de Morseiul! Hollo! where are you?"
"It is the voice of the Chevalier d'Evran," cried Clémence, clinging closer to her lover, as if with some degree of fear.
"I think it is," said the Count; "but fear not! He is friendly to us all. Draw down your veil, however, my beloved; it is not necessary that he should see and know you."
With the same shout the Chevalier continued to advance towards them, and the Count took a step or two forward to meet him. But, shaking his friend warmly by the hand, the Chevalier passed on at once to the lady, and, to the surprise of the Count, addressed her immediately by her name: "Very pretty, indeed, Mademoiselle Clémence!" he said; "this is as dangerous a jest, I think, as ever was practised."
Clémence hesitated not a moment, but replied at once, "It is no jest, Sir! It is a dangerous reality, if you will."
"Poo, poo, silly girl," cried the Chevalier. "By the Lord that lives, you will get yourself into the castle of Pignerol, or the Bastille, or some such pleasant abode! I have come at full speed to bring you back."