“If you move,” the trooper said, in a mild voice; “if you utter a sound, I'll blow off the top of your cursed head!”
CHAPTER XXIV. THE PRISONER OF THE RED CHATEAU
There the two stood, mottled in the moonshine and shadow, with wild eyes and nostrils distended, the one triumphant, the other raging and impotent. Maurice was growing weary of fortune's discourtesies. He gazed alternately from his own revolver, lying at his feet, to the one in the hand of this unexpected visitant. Only two miles between him and freedom, yet he must turn back. The Colonel had reckoned without Madame, and therefore without reason. This man had probably got around in front of him when he climbed the tree. He turned sullenly and started to walk away, expecting to be followed.
“Halt! Where the devil are you going?”
“Why, back to your cursed chateau!” Maurice answered surlily.
The strange trooper laughed discordantly. “Back to the chateau? I think not. Now, then, right about face—march! Aye, toward the frontier; and if I have to go on alone, so much the worse for you. I've knocked in one man's head; if necessary, I'll blow off the top of yours. You know the way back to Bleiberg, I don't; that is why I want your company. Now march.”
But Maurice did not march; he was filled with curiosity. “Are you a trooper in Madame the duchess's household?” he asked.
“No, curse you!”
“Who are you, then?”