“He is not coming,” said Lucien, in a sorrowful tone.
“No; he would have been up long since. He would be certain to gallop if he had seen the smoke. We must go after him.”
They turned towards their horses. Basil’s glance fell upon the dog. A gleam of joy shot into his eye, and big whole bearing became suddenly changed.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, “we have been wasting time. Quick, Lucien!—your horse! to your horse!”
“What is it?” asked Lucien in surprise.
“Do not ask me—a good thought strikes me; but we have not a moment to lose—time is precious. Let us be off!”
“But shall we leave Jeanette?”
“By all means. François might come up.”
“If he should, how is he to know where we are gone?”
“True,” answered Basil, reflecting a moment. “Oh!” he continued, “give me your paper and pencil. You tie Jeanette while I write.”