“From Clisson?”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”
“And by Commequiers less,” the Countess cried.
“No, it is a worse road,” Tignonville answered quickly; “and longer in time.”
“But we came—”
“At our leisure, Madame. The road is by Challans, if we wish to be there quickly.”
“Ah!” Count Hannibal said. In the darkness it was impossible to see his face or mark how he took it. “But being there, I have few men.”
“I have forty will come at call,” she cried with pride. “A word to them, and in four hours or a little more—”
“They would outnumber mine by four to one,” Count Hannibal answered coldly, dryly, in a voice like ice-water flung in their faces. “Thank you, Madame; I understand. To Vrillac is no long ride; but we will not ride it at present.” And he turned sharply on his heel and strode from them.
He had not covered thirty paces before she overtook him in the middle of a broad patch of moonlight, and touched his arm. He wheeled swiftly, his hand halfway to his hilt. Then he saw who it was.