hail of bullets from their tirailleurs
without taking imminent risk of death. Yet Clyffurde had done it. Why?
Maurice--wide-eyed and sullen--could only find one answer to that
insistent question.

That same deadly pang of jealousy which had assailed his heart after the
midnight interview at the inn now held him in its cruel grip again. He
felt that he hated the man to whom he owed his life, and that he hated
himself for this mean and base ingratitude. He would not trust himself
to speak or to look on Bobby at all, lest the ugly thoughts which were
floating through his mind set their stamp upon his face.

"Will you ride on to Brussels?" he said at last. "I can wait here . . .
and perhaps you could send a conveyance for me later on. M. le Comte de
Cambray would . . ."

"M. le Comte de Cambray and Mademoiselle Crystal are even now devoured
with anxiety about you," broke in Clyffurde as firmly as he could. "And
I could not ride to Brussels--even though some one were waiting for me
there--I really am not able to ride further. I would prefer to sit here
and rest."

"I don't like to leave you . . . after . . . after what you have done
for me . . . I would like to . . ."

"I would like you to scramble into that saddle and go," retorted Bobby
with a momentary return to his usual good-natured irony, "and to leave
me in peace."

"I'll send out a conveyance for you," rejoined St. Genis. "I know M. le
Comte de Cambray would wish . . ."

"Mention my name to M. le Comte at your peril . . ." began Clyffurde.

"But . . ."

"By the Lord, man," now exclaimed Bobby with a sudden burst of energy,
"if you do not go, I vow that sick as I am, and sick though you may be,
I'll yet manage to punch your aching head."

Then as the other--still reluctantly--turned to take hold of the horse's
bridle, he added more gently: "Can you mount?"

"Oh, yes! I am better now."

"You won't turn giddy, and fall off your horse?"

"I don't think so."

"Talk about the halt leading the blind!" murmured Clyffurde as he
stretched himself out once more upon the soft ground, whilst Maurice
contrived to hoist himself up into the saddle. "Are you safe now?" he
added as the young man collected the reins in his hand, and planted his
feet firmly into the stirrups.

"Yes! I am safe enough," replied St. Genis. "It is only my head that
aches: and Brussels is not far."

Then he paused a moment ere he started to go--with lips set tight and
looking down on B