few
words of our plans. She received my communication without blenching.
To tell the truth, anything might well have seemed better to her than
imprisonment in that half ruined tower, for that is what it really
came to. When I told her she must resume her brown riding suit, she
sighed, and her soft, pensive eyes filled with tears; but she made no
protest, and said she would be ready to start at any moment. By
heaven, she was a soldier!

In the golden dawn of the morning we saw Uzmaiz for the last time. An
odorous wind blew from the pine forests. The lake was like molten
silver as we pulled across it. Francezka sat silent and composed and
beautiful in the boat. She wore her riding suit, and her crimson
mantle, which, luckily, was sexless, was wrapped about her. I wondered
what eager, tumultuous thoughts were in her mind, for now she was
setting forth again, a pilgrim and a wayfarer. But the lives of four
men, without fear, stood between her and harm.

CHAPTER XI

A LOST CAUSE

There is something in having a good horse under one which mightily
uplifts a weary heart. It is like meat and drink, a consolation that
rises in the blood and makes its way to the seat of the soul, which
goes soaring. So it was with us on that September morning when we left
Uzmaiz. We had been cooped up for over a month on the island, and
every moment of our waking time had been full of labor and anxiety.
Now, the worst had befallen us; and there is something of relief in
the thought that there are no more bolts to fall. I believe that Count
Saxe carried no delusions away from Uzmaiz. He did not at once give up
his cause as lost, but I think he saw the game was not worth the
winning. But for courage and smiling patience, one might have thought
he had won the day, instead of being driven out, like a vagrant dog,
from a strange fireside.

We mounted, and set forth in the dewy morning--the Russians civil
enough, but General Lacy keeping out of sight for very shame at
Bibikoff's conduct, with which he was perfectly well acquainted. They
gave us good horses. Count Saxe rode ahead, with Mademoiselle Capello,
Gaston Cheverny and me following, and Beauvais behind. Gaston
Cheverny had a portmanteau strapped to his saddle, and in it was a
treasure most precious to Francezka--her woman's clothes. I had one
equally valued by Count Saxe--his rescript of election by the Diet to
the crown of Courland. I hid it between my skin and my shirt. For
Fra