sped. "Where is he?"

"In heaven, I hope--but I doubt it sadly."

"You have killed him?"

There and then, as briefly as I might, I told him, whilst the others
stood by to listen, how I had come upon the Marquis in the chateau the
night before and what had passed thereafter.

"And now," I said, as I cut his bonds, "it grieves me to charge you with
an impolite errand to his Eminence, but--"

"I'll not return to him," he burst out. "I dare not. Mon Dieu, you have
ruined me, Luynes!"

"Then come with me, and I'll build your fortunes anew and on a sounder
foundation. I have an influential letter in my pocket that should
procure us fortune in the service of the King of Spain."

He needed little pressing to fall in with my invitation, so we set the
sergeant free, and him instead I charged with a message that must have
given Mazarin endless pleasure when it was delivered to him. But he had
the Canaples estates wherewith to console himself and his never-failing
maxim that "chi canta, paga." Touching the Canaples estates, however, he
did not long enjoy them, for when he went into exile, two years later,
the Parliament returned them to their rightful owner.

The Chevalier de Canaples approached me timidly.

"Monsieur," quoth he, "I have wronged you very deeply. And this generous
rescue of one who has so little merited your aid truly puts me to so
much shame that I know not what thanks to offer you."

"Then offer none, Monsieur," I answered, taking his proffered hand.
"Moreover, time presses and we have a possible pursuit to baffle. So to
horse, Monsieurs."

I assisted Mademoiselle to mount, and she passively suffered me to do
her this office, having no word for me, and keeping her face averted
from my earnest gaze.

I sighed as I turned to mount the horse Michelot held for me; but
methinks 't was more a sigh of satisfaction than of pain.

. . . . . . . .

All that night we travelled and all next day until Tours was reached
towards evening. There we halted for a sorely needed rest and for fresh
horses.

Three days later we arrived at Nantes, and a week from the night of the
Chevalier's rescue we took ship from that port to Santander.

That same evening, as I leaned upon the taffrail watching the distant
coast line of my beloved France, whose soil meseemed I was not like to
tread again for years, Yvonne came softly up behind me.

"Monsieur," she said in a voice that trembled so