CHAPTER I
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
THE horse Rochefort had captured was a powerful roan, fully caparisoned after the fashion of the officers’ horses of the cavalry, with pistols in the holsters and a saddle-bag for despatches.
Having ridden half a league at full gallop, Rochefort drew rein and glanced back. He was no longer pursued. He hugged himself at the thought of d’Estouteville’s position. D’Estouteville would have to return to Versailles, on a lame horse, and with what explanation? Were he to tell people that Rochefort had run away from him, he would be laughed at, for Rochefort’s reputation for courage was too well founded to be shaken by a tale like that.
Then as Rochefort proceeded swiftly on his way, the saddle-bag attracted him; he was at open war with the Choiseul faction; Choiseul was in power, the Gardes were the servants of Choiseul, and the horse belonged to an officer in the Gardes. It and its trappings were loot, and to examine his loot he opened the saddle-bag as he rode, plunged in his hand, and found nothing but a letter. A large, official letter, sealed with a red seal and addressed in a big firm hand to
“Mademoiselle La Bruyère,
“In the Suite of Her Royal Highness
“At Compiègne.
“To be left with Madame de La Motte.”
This was the letter which we saw Choiseul writing.
“Oh, ho!” cried Rochefort, “M. de Choiseul writing to a young lady, and that young lady in the suite of the Dauphiness. Well, I have no quarrel with Choiseul’s private affairs and the letter shall go to its destination or be returned to him—but first, let me get to Paris.”
He returned the letter to its place, closed the saddle-bag and urged the horse into a canter.