the sound of the horses' hoofs on the hard road
kept the echoes of the night busy with their resonance, but soon that
sound grew fainter and fainter still--after five minutes it died away
altogether.

M. de Comte put his head out of the window.

"Eh bien, Pierre," he called, "why don't we start?"

The postillion cracked his whip; Pierre shouted to his horses; the heavy
coach groaned and creaked and was once more on its way.

In the interior no one spoke. Jeanne's terror had melted in a silent
flow of tears.

Lyons was reached shortly before midnight. M. le Comte's carriage had
some difficulty in entering the town, as by orders of M. le Comte
d'Artois it had already been placed in a state of defence against the
possible advance of the "band of pirates from Corsica." The bridge of La
Guillotiere had been strongly barricaded and it took M. le Comte de
Cambray some little time to establish his identity before the officer in
command of the post allowed him to proceed on his way.

The town was fairly full owing to the presence of M. le Comte d'Artois,
who had taken up his quarters at the archiepiscopal palace, and of his
staff, who were scattered in various houses about the town. Nevertheless
M. le Comte and his family were fortunate enough in obtaining
comfortable accommodation at the Hotel Bourbon.

The party was very tired, and after a light supper retired to bed.

But not before M. le Comte de Cambray had sent a special autographed
message to Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois explaining to him under what
tragic circumstances the sum of twenty-five million francs destined to
reach His Majesty the King had fallen into a common highwayman's hands
and begging that a posse of cavalry be sent out on the road after the
marauders and be placed under the orders of M. le Marquis de St. Genis,
who would be on the look-out for their arrival. He begged that the posse
should consist of not less than thirty men, seeing that some armed
followers of the Corsican brigand were also somewhere on the way.

CHAPTER V

THE RIVALS

I

The weather did not improve as the night wore on: soon a thin, cold
drizzle added to the dreariness and to Maurice de St. Genis'
ever-growing discomfort.

He had started off gaily enough, cheered by Crystal's warm look of
encouragement and comforted by the feeling of certainty that he would
get even with that mysterious enemy who had so impudently thrown himself
athwart a plan which had serv