Now Armand was lifted back into the coach, and she could
not even help to make him comfortable, though as he was lifted in she
heard him feebly moaning. Then the Carriage doors were banged to again.

"Do not allow either of the prisoners out again, on peril of your
lives!" came with a vigorous curse from Heron.

After which there was a moment's silence; whispered commands came
spasmodically in deadened sound to her ear.

"Will the key turn?"

"Yes, citizen."

"All secure?"

"Yes, citizen. The prisoner is groaning."

"Let him groan."

"The empty coach, citizen? The horses have been taken out."

"Leave it standing where it is, then; citizen Chauvelin will need it in
the morning."

"Armand," whispered Marguerite inside the coach, "did you see Percy?"

"It was so dark," murmured Armand feebly; "but I saw him, just inside
the gates, where they had laid him down. I heard him groaning. Oh, my
God!"

"Hush, dear!" she said. "We can do nothing more, only die, as he lived,
bravely and with a smile on our lips, in memory of him."

"Number 35 is wounded, citizen," said one of the men.

"Curse the fool who did the mischief," was the placid response. "Leave
him here with the guard."

"How many of you are there left, then?" asked the same voice a moment
later.

"Only two, citizen; if one whole section remains with me at the chapel
door, and also the wounded man."

"Two are enough for me, and five are not too many at the chapel door."
And Heron's coarse, cruel laugh echoed against the stone walls of the
little chapel. "Now then, one of you get into the coach, and the other
go to the horses' heads; and remember, Corporal Cassard, that you and
your men who stay here to guard that chapel door are answerable to the
whole nation with your lives for the safety of the Englishman."

The carriage door was thrown open, and a soldier stepped in and sat down
opposite Marguerite and Armand. Heron in the meanwhile was apparently
scrambling up the box. Marguerite could hear him muttering curses as he
groped for the reins, and finally gathered them into his hand.

The springs of the coach creaked and groaned as the vehicle slowly
swung round; the wheels ploughed deeply through the soft carpet of dead
leaves.

Marguerite felt Armand's inert body leaning heavily against her
shoulder.

"Are you in pain, dear?" she asked softly.

He made no reply, and she thought that he had fainted. It was better
so; at least the next dreary