“Pardieu! I'll risk his aim! I never yet saw one of these curs shoot straight.”
“No, no, obey me, Michelot. Think of Mademoiselle. Go! Adieu! If we should not meet again, mon brave,” I finished, as I seized his loyal hand, “what few things of mine are at the hostelry shall belong to you, as well as what may be left of this money. It is little enough payment, Michelot, for all your faithfulness—”
“Monsieur, Monsieur!” he cried.
“Diable!” I muttered, “we are becoming women! Be off, you knave! Adieu!”
The peremptoriness of my tone ended our leave-taking and caused him to grip his reins and bring down his whip. The coach moved on. A white face, on which the moonlight fell, glanced at me from the window, then to my staring eyes naught was left but the back of the retreating vehicle, with one of the two saddle-horses that had been tethered to it still ambling in its wake.
“M. de Montrésor,” I said, thrusting my bullet-pierced hat upon my head, “I am at your service.”
CHAPTER XIV. OF WHAT BEFELL AT REAUX.
At my captor's bidding I mounted the horse which they had untethered from the carriage, and we started off along the road which the coach itself had disappeared upon a moment before. But we travelled at a gentle trot, which, after that evening's furious riding, was welcome to me.
With bitterness I reflected as I rode that the very moment at which Mademoiselle de Canaples had brought herself to think better of me was like to prove the last we should spend together. Yet not altogether bitter was that reflection; for with it came also the consolation—whereof I had told her—that I had not been taken before she had had cause to change her mind concerning me.