laiming already clearly enough that the court was up, the sentence
awarded.

"I must know all!" Boussac cried, and followed by the other he rushed
out. And then he learned the _galerien's_ doom--wheel on the third
morning from now.

No wonder the pale-faced girl thought he looked sad as he stood in the
gateway bidding De Mortemart a hasty farewell.

"If I can," he said, "I must save him; must if necessary see the king.
I am mousquetaire--I have the right of audience."

"Nothing can save him," the other replied. "He has served Louis, and
he has fought against him--on the conquering side. That is enough!"

"Yet," said Boussac, "I will try. I can tell Louis something of his
history that may--though the chance is poor, God knows!--induce him to
hold his hand. Or, at least, to let the doom be something less awful
than the wheel."

So they parted, the one to take his men back to Rambouillet, the other
to try and save St. Georges, vain as he feared the attempt would be.

First, he sought a messenger, a trusty honest man he knew of, himself
an old disbanded soldier, and told him he must ride that night on a
message of life and death. Would he promise to let nothing stand in
his way?--he should be well rewarded.

"Never fear, monsieur. To where must I ride?"

"To Troyes. You can obtain a good horse?"

"Ay! or get a _renfort_ on the road. 'Tis thirty leagues, but I will
manage it. What have I to do when there?"

"This. Make for the Manoir de Roquemaure, then see at once _la
chatelaine_, Mademoiselle de Roquemaure--she rules it since her
mother's death. Next, give her this. Put it into her own hand and no
other. In the name of God fail not! Again I say, it is life or death!"

"Fear not. I will not fail. In half an hour I am on the road. Hark!
the clock strikes from the Tour St. Jacques; 'tis seven o'clock--ere
it strikes the same hour in the morning I shall be there and to
spare--or dead."

"Brave man! Good soldier! I believe you. Go."

What the old soldier was to give into the hand of Aurelie de
Roquemaure was a letter containing the following hastily scribbled
words:

"MADEMOISELLE: You spoke to me once of an unhappy gentleman,
a _chevau-leger_; asked me if he was dead, and said you had
some news would make him happy if he knew it. Mademoiselle,
he is not dead, but dies on Monday, on the wheel--Monday
morning next at dawn! He has returned to France, fought
against Tourville on th