"My guide from Ysembourg."
"Had he better not return with us? Monsieur is close to the ford."
Instead of replying to this uncomfortable suggestion, I asked "Have you found him you watched for?"
"The escaped prisoner?"
"Diable—yes."
"No, monsieur," he replied, with a malediction, in which the others, especially he of the slashed visage, heartily joined, while stamping their feet and blowing their fingers; "and so, after being half-frozen, we have left the ford in despair."
"Well—in yonder cottage on the slope of the hill you will find him lying dead, with his red coat beside him."
"Tres bon!—but I have some brandy here, M. le Chevalier," said Arnaud, presenting his canteen.
"A votre santé, mon camarade," said I, drinking and handing the vessel to Hob, who without the smallest compunction and with a leer in his eye drained it to the last drop. "Diable! 'tis a cold night—I shaved off my moustache to avoid icicles; now, camarade, the direct road to the ford?"
"Is this we are on, monsieur—a half-mile further will bring you to it, but beware of the Hussars."