"What! You would rob your victim!"
"The spoils of war! Feel for his purse."
"Feel for it yourself. I need not money."
"I do." Whereon the ruffian calmly knelt down by Humphrey's side, ransacked his clothes and, at last, drew out a fairly well-filled purse which he clinked joyously in front of the lantern. "With this," he said, "we can--I mean, I can--buy me a horse across the frontier or get a seat in some coach, or patache or waggon for France. You need not money, you say. Therefore you, too, can do the same."
"Why not take our own horses?"
"Because thereby we tell the tale. This butterfly is found here dead; we are gone and our horses, too. What does that point to, hein? Whereas, there is mystery in it if we are also gone without our horses, and he, if dead here, and----"
The fellow paused, hearing a slight rustle in the straw and whispered, "Ha! he stirs. 'Tis best to finish the affair," and he lifted his sword.
"Nay, fool," said La Truaumont. "'Tis Boisfleury who moves. And--hark--he moans in his insensibility."
"Boisfleury! Boisfleury," the other repeated, musing. "Boisfleury. A crafty knave and violent. Listen again," he continued, whispering, "perhaps Boisfleury, too, will die. Then 'twill be thought they have killed each other--Boisfleury's blade is out; he would have maimed the mare. While," and now Fleur de Mai placed a brawny finger on La Truaumont's breast and peered into his eyes, "if he does not die, still," and he tapped the other with the finger, "he will be found here alive. He cannot stir yet. So, too, will that be found," pointing at the reddened straw. "So, too, that," pointing at the bruise on Boisfleury's temple. "You take me? The murder--will--be out. And Boisfleury will--pay--for it. They execute freely here, they say, for any little violence. He will not go scot free. But we shall. Come, man. Come. Away. A flask first and then off--off--to the frontier. And I have this," shaking the purse. "Pardie! the valet pays better than madame la patronne. Come."
* * * * *