"I will do my best, my Lord, though it is a queer errand," I replied as I took my leave.
"Parbleu! this Cardinal is a cunning fox," exclaimed Pillot, when I informed him of the kind of adventure in which we were engaged. "The Spaniards will think Lorraine is making friends with the Court; they will take fright and decamp. Truly this Mazarin is a shrewd rascal. But," he added more soberly, "the affair will be awkward for monsieur."
"Why, yes; it will not be altogether pleasant," I replied, "but the Spaniards will soon release me."
Mounting our horses, we rode off, and by early evening had reached the neighbourhood of the Spanish camp.
"Monsieur will soon have his wish," whispered Pillot, as we proceeded through a small hamlet. "See, the road yonder is blocked by a body of horsemen. Does monsieur intend to show fight?"
"Why, no; yet I must not be caught too easily, or I shall arouse suspicion. Let us ride on carelessly, and turn when it is just too late."
"Monsieur may get a bullet," suggested Pillot, but I told him I must chance that, though he was, on no account, to risk his own life.
Accordingly we proceeded along the road toward the Spanish outpost, when suddenly a gruff voice roared some words in a foreign tongue. I have often laughed since at the remembrance of Pillot's face at this time. The fellow was a born actor and might have made a fortune on the stage. Now, his eyes rolled in fright, he was the very picture of misery, and he cried in trembling accents, "Fly, monsieur, fly, or we are dead men! Oh, good people, I pray you, do not hurt us. I will give you five pistoles—ten even——"
"Be still!" I exclaimed roughly, "what a coward you are!"
Again the gruff voice sounded, and just as I turned my horse's head, a dozen men, or more, came rushing up, while some one shouted in bad French, "Halt, or we fire!"