She was a charming young creature, scarce seventeen years of age, with a delicate waist, and marked and adorably beautiful features; her long black silky hair had escaped from the comb that confined it and fell in perfumed curls over her face, on which a slight flush presaged a speedy return to life.
The young lady's dress, which was very rich and remarkably elegant, would have led to the supposition that she was of high rank, had not the stamp of aristocracy, spread over her entire person, removed all doubts on that score.
Michael, with his characteristic coolness which nothing ever upset, had remained by the side of the horse which, calmed by the fall and trembling in all its limbs, had allowed itself to be raised without offering the slightest resistance; the Basque after removing the saddle, had plucked a wisp of grass, and began rubbing the horse down, while admiring it, and muttering every now and then.
"I don't care, it's a noble and beautiful animal! It would have been a pity had it rolled over that frightful precipice; I am glad it is saved."
The worthy sailor did not think the least bit in the world of the young lady, for his entire interest was concentrated on the horse.
When he had finished rubbing down, he put the saddle and bridle on again and led the horse up to the Count.
"There," he said with an air of satisfaction, "now the horse is calm; poor creature, a child could guide it with a thread."
In the meanwhile the horsemen rapidly approached, and soon came up to the two French sailors.