“And the Dumb Captain?”
“Ce petit homme tant joli.” I quoted a line from the popular ballad the Huguenot soldiers sang about Condé.
The Gascon’s tongue began to loosen now.
“Then, as of old, we are brothers-in-arms, and I can ask you for help, for, my friend, I am in a desperate strait.”
“What is it?”
“You know how affairs stand at Orleans?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there is one chance, and only one chance, of safety. It is with me. If I reach the Constable in three days we may yet save the Prince. But my horse is lame, dead lame. Had this not happened, I would have gone through the storm—but here I am, tied by the leg. Can you lend me a horse?”
“I, too, have my business, Ponthieu, and life hangs on that. We have no spare horse.”
“Then Condé dies,” he answered.