tained leave--we Mousquetaires are always
fortunate in getting that. Do not deny me!"

"Deny you!--you! The man who saved me! I am an ingrate even to
question you," and he seized the black gauntleted hand of the other
and wrung it hard.

After that there was no more to be said or done ere they set out--or
only one thing. Boussac had mentioned that he had a friend, a dragoon
officer, who was proceeding to La Hogue to join his regiment which was
still there under Bellefond's command, and by him St. Georges sent
twenty pistoles to be given to Dubois, the man who owned the horse
which saved his life. He borrowed the money of Boussac, described the
inn where he had seized the animal, and then mounted it for the first
time with a feeling of satisfaction. "'Tis a good beast," he said,
"and has done me loyal service; also it has well replaced another good
one--that on which I rode from Pontarlier to Paris and never saw
again. How long ago that seems, Boussac!"

"Ay," replied the other, "but it was winter then and the clouds were
lowering over your life and her you loved--now 'tis summer, and all is
well with you."

"I pray God! I have suffered my share."

All through that summer night they rode--resting their horses
occasionally at country inns, then going on again, though slowly, and
at dawn changing them for others and leaving them to rest until they
should return that way. And so at last they neared Troyes, passing
through the little town of Nogent, and seeing, ten miles off, the
spire of the cathedral glistening in the rays of the bright sun.

"She will not know me," St. Georges had said more than once, as he
thought of Dorine. "She was a babe when I lost her, now she is a child
possessing speech and intelligence. May God grant it is not too late;
that she is not too old yet to learn to love me!"

"Courage! _mon ami_, courage!" exclaimed Boussac, repeating a formula
he had adopted from the first; "all must be well."

But--it was natural--as they approached their destination, the goal
from which St. Georges hoped so much, his nervousness increased
terribly and he began to speculate as to whether the child might not
after all be dead; if, perhaps, she might not have lain in her little
grave for long. "And then how will it be with me, Boussac? Oh! if she
is dead how shall I reckon with the woman who possessed herself of
her?"

"Courage!" again repeated the mousquetaire, "I do not believe she is
dead. And if mademoi