The Gascon had excuse for what he said, and, as we crossed the Bievre, that little child of the Beuvron, we slackened pace, now feeling secure from further pursuit, and Ponthieu, who had completely regained his spirits and good temper, told us how he escaped.
“You must know, friends,” he said, “that when I dropped out of the window, I knew no more than the road to the moon where I was, but after some groping I reached the stable where my lame nag stood. He was close to yours, and for once I was tempted to take the chance Providence had thrown to my hand, and assist myself to one of your beasts.”
“If you had, Ponthieu——”
“We would not have been such good friends as we are now, but I should have been within a league of Yvoy le Marron, where the Constable lies. To make the story short, I resisted the temptation for our friendship’s sake, de Vibrac, and sought the next stall, to find there a mule—a yellow mule as I live—nevertheless he seemed a stout beast, and would serve at a pinch. I looked round to see if any one was by, but there was no one watching, so I made a shift to go back to my own horse to fetch his saddle. As I came out of the stall into the flagged passage, a light suddenly flashed before my eyes, and some one struck at me. I started back, luckily, or else I had never spoken again, but the blow grazed my good steel cap, and sent me flying. The next moment I was seized and pinned down. I made a struggle for it, as you may think, and shouted out for help, the Lord knows why, for I knew well enough there was no help at hand; but all was useless. There were four men against me—stout fellows—and in a twinkling I was gagged and bound. Then they took away my arms and money, and searched me. But they did not find what they wanted, and at last one of them flashed the lantern again in my face as he asked me roughly:
“‘Where is the letter?’
“‘Oh! ho!’ I said to myself, as it came to me in a moment that there was more in this than I thought, and that there must have been a traitor somewhere.”
“The traitors were our own tongues, Ponthieu; every word of our talk was overheard by Achon.”
He looked at me, his black eyes staring with astonishment.
“Overheard! Impossible! There was not a soul in the room.”
“We both forgot that big press, Ponthieu. Achon lay in wait behind that. But go on with your story. I will tell you mine later on.”