ing ground, and there, to our
half-left, lay Richelieu, the smoke still rising from its burning
houses, and, caught by the wind, stretching out in a long horsetail
across the country. Mademoiselle reined up and watched the scene for a
little, our party halting behind her. As we did so we heard a loud
neigh, and a riderless horse, the saddlery still on him, came out of
some stunted trees and trotted towards us. At a sign from me one of my
men caught the horse and freed him of his bit and saddle, whilst I
galloped up to the trees, upon which half a dozen or so of ravens were
sitting. When I reached them I found what I expected there, and the
hideous birds croaked down on me as if in derision, for what was lying
there was past all aid of man. I came back as I went, and Diane asked:

"Is there anyone there, monsieur?"

"No, mademoiselle. And 'tis almost time for our midday halt; a little
farther on and we will rest."

Diane turned her horse's head, and I was about to turn back once more
to my place when she said in a low tone:

"Monsieur, I have something to say to you."

I bowed, and rode up beside her. And we let the men go onward,
dropping together to the place I had left in the rear.

"Monsieur," she said after a little, "I have been trying to say what I
want all the morning. I want you to forgive me for the cruel words I
used to you last night. I--I never meant them." She was flushed and
trembling as she spoke, and I saw the tears in her eyes. I lifted my
hat at her words.

"Mademoiselle, after all you were right. I am but Bertrand Broussel, a
citizen of Paris, as you know, and you----"

"Oh yes; I know all that; but, oh! I feel hot with shame when I think
of my words. Monsieur, say you forgive me!"

"With all my heart, mademoiselle! Think no more of it, I pray you."
And then, to change the subject, I pointed to a grove of trees in front
of us. "There, mademoiselle, is where we halt for an hour or so. What
say you to a race there?"

"Are you not afraid of that?"

"I will risk it," I said. And, with a laugh, she touched her Norman
with the whip, and I kept Lizette pounding after her, until she pulled
up, flushed and hot, near the trees, beside which the Mable purled past.

"Beaten again," she said as I came up.

"It is my fate." And, pulling up, I pointed to the river. "Do you
remember this river, mademoiselle?"

"The Mable!" And she shuddered. "But surely it was not here that we
c