Indeed, it seemed as if he fell back somewhat, to avoid any possible contact.
The king uttered a second cry, no longer appealing and imploring, but of rage and despair.
However, he thought that the iron feet of his horse seemed to be now striking on stone, and not on the sod. He had arrived at the fatal precipice.
He whispered the name of God, released his foot from the stirrup, and let himself fall to the ground, at every risk.
The rebound carried him some fifteen paces away; but miraculously, as it appeared, he fell upon a little mound of moss and grass, and sustained no injury. It was full time! Less than twenty feet away was the sheer precipice.
The poor horse, amazed at being thus relieved of his burden, gradually lessened his pace, so that when he reached the edge of the chasm, he had time to measure its width, and instinctively threw himself upon his haunches, with flaming eyes and disordered mane, and foam flying from his distended nostrils.
But if the king had been still upon his back, the shock of his sudden stop would surely have thrown him into the abyss.
Having offered a fervent prayer of thanksgiving to God, who had so evidently protected him, and having soothed and remounted his horse, his first thought was to hasten back and vent his anger upon the wretch who would so basely have left him to die, except for the intervention of God.
The stranger had remained in the same spot, still motionless beneath the folds of his black cloak.
"Wretch!" cried the king, when he had approached within ear-shot. "Did you not see the danger I was in? Did you not recognize me, regicide? And even though it were not your king, ought you not to rescue any man in such peril of his life, when you have only to stretch out your arm to do it, miscreant?"