Pillot gave a scream of fright and jumped down, while I galloped off. The ride was not a long one, however, for my horse had scarcely got into his stride when a bullet struck him and he rolled over, pinning my leg to the ground. In an instant the soldiers were around me, and Pillot was crying fearfully, "Do not kill him, good people. He is a high officer and a friend of the King's. He is on an errand for His Majesty now. Oh, I will give you five, ten pistoles, and——"

"Cease that noise and answer my questions," exclaimed some one in French. "Who is your master, and where is he going?"

I did not hear Pillot's reply. My leg had been released, but the pain caused me to faint, and several days passed before I was able to understand what had happened. Then I found myself in a bed in a small chamber, with Pillot waiting upon me. He would not talk much at first, but after a time he recounted in high glee how the soldiers had discovered Mazarin's note, and how the Spanish general had almost immediately broken up the camp and withdrawn the greater part of his troops.

"And where are we now?" I asked.

"In Compiègne, monsieur. The surgeon says you will not be fit for the field for months, but in a fortnight or so I am going to take you in a carriage to Paris," and his face beamed with delight.

"I wonder if the Cardinal knows what happened?"

"Yes, monsieur. I sent him word by a trusty courier. Monsieur should be made a nobleman."

I did not wish that, but I was gratified when, on the very day before setting out for Paris, a special courier brought me this note, written by the Cardinal himself:

"Well done, De Lalande! Get well soon. Your services will not be forgotten."

My leg was still painful, and I could not use it at all, but Pillot had hired a roomy carriage, and fitted it up with soft cushions. Indeed, his thoughtfulness was remarkable, and he treated me with as much care as if I had been a child. We did the journey by easy stages, and I at length found myself back in my old rooms.