d then there was a
silence. After a little she asked almost timidly:

"Monsieur, amongst the prisoners taken by M. de Montluc was the Vicomte
de Ganache. I have not been able to hear news of him, and I would give
much to know----"

It was ever thus: De Ganache was ever first; and I answered, without
letting her complete her speech:

"M. de Ganache is no longer a prisoner; he was freed by Montluc this
morning."

"Freed! Are you sure?"

"Sure as I ride here. I saw him leave Poitiers in safety."

"It is almost incredible. And yet----"

"It is true, mademoiselle. M. de Ganache is known to me, and I had
speech with him before he left. He is free, I assure you."

"It is, indeed, good news, monsieur." And she looked at me, her face
all brightness, as she continued, with a little laugh: "M. de Montluc
is, I see, more generous to men than to women."

At this juncture our speech was cut short, as from out of the ravine
before us into which the road dipped there suddenly emerged one of the
troopers I had sent on ahead. As the man came galloping up to us I
thought at first that he bore ill tidings, but it turned out that he
had ridden back to give me news of the accommodations at Les Barres.

"I have arranged, monsieur, at the sign of the Slain Leopard, where
things are as good as can be expected. There is room enough, as there
are no other guests but one. I have left Capus to see that everything
is ready."

Thanking the man, who fell back, we pushed on at the trot, for it was
now approaching sunset. Whilst passing La Tricherie I halted for a
moment to show mademoiselle the ruins of Baudimont, and pointed out to
her, in the distance on our right, the field of Moussaisla-Bataille,
where Charles the Hammer broke the Saracen advance for ever.

We were now but a little distance from Les Barres, and could already
see the roofs of the village and the square tower of the church, all
alight with the sunset. As we came closer we heard the melancholy
chimes of the _couvre feu_, followed by the barking of dogs, and a few
minutes later we reached the hostel.

Les Barres itself was an oasis in the desert around us. It lay
nestling amidst groves of walnuts, and a singular chance had spared it
from the evils around. As for the hostel itself, that lay far back in
a trim garden, and the quaint signboard, whereon was pictured a dead
leopard on a blue field--a memory of the last days of the hundred
years' war--swung tr