d splendor.

A noisy cheer arose, to be faintly echoed by the oncoming avalanche of
white horses and dazzling blue uniforms.

This was the incident upon which Madame the duchess relied.

With rage and chagrin in his heart, Maurice viewed the scene. The knell
of the Osians had been struck. He gazed forlornly at the cuirassiers;
they at least had come to sell their lives honestly for their bread.
Presently the two armies came together; all was confusion and cheers.
Kronau approached the leader of the cavalry.... Maurice was greatly
disturbed. He leaned toward the prince.

"Your Highness," he whispered, "I am going to make a dash for the road."

"Yes, yes!" replied the prince, intuitively. "My God, yes! Warn her to
fly, so that she will not be compelled to witness this cursed woman's
triumph. Save her that humiliation. Go, and God be with you, my friend!
We are all dishonored. The Marshal looks as if he were dying."

The native troopers, in their eagerness to witness the meeting between
Kronau and the former Colonel of the cuirassiers, had pushed forward. A
dozen, however, had hemmed in the Marshal, the prince and Maurice. But
these were standing in their stirrups. Maurice gradually brought his
horse about so that presently he was facing north. Directly in front of
him was an opening. He grasped his saber firmly and pressed the spurs.
Quick as he was, two sabers barred his way, but he beat them aside, went
diagonally down the hill, over the stone wall and into the road.

While he was maneuvering for this dash, one man had been eying him with
satisfaction. As the black horse suddenly sank from view behind the
hill, Beauvais, to the astonishment of Kronau, drew his revolver.

"There goes a man," he cried, "who must not escape. He is so valuable
that I shall permit no one but myself to bring him back!" And the
splendid white animal under him bounded up the hill and down the other
side.

Beauvais had a well-defined purpose in following alone. He was
determined that one Maurice Carewe should not bother anyone hereafter;
he knew too much.

The white horse and the black faded away in the blur of rising dust.

CHAPTER XXVI. A PAGE FROM TASSO

For a long time Maurice rode with his head almost touching the coal
black mane of his gallant Mecklenberg. Twice he glanced back to see who
followed, but the volume of dust which rolled after him obscured all
behind. He could hear the far-off hammer of hoofs, but this, ming