"Boussac!" he exclaimed. "Boussac! Is it in truth you?"
"It is I, my friend."
Then, as St. Georges's senses came fully back to him, he seized the other's hand and murmured: "You! It is you have done this! Through you that I am saved."
"You are saved, my friend. That is enough. What matter by whom?"
CHAPTER XXXIV.
"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER."
Once more St. Georges was on the road, heading straight for Troyes, and by his side once more rode a friend, as he had ridden over four years ago—Boussac!
When he had thoroughly recovered from the swoon into which he had fallen on hearing that he was free, he had again and again overwhelmed the mousquetaire with his gratitude—all of which the latter had refused to accept, and had, indeed, gently repudiated. Also it seemed to St. Georges that he avoided the subject, or at least said as little as possible.