ne," he said,
as he rode up to the leader. "I began to think that I should lose
you altogether. It is quite a chance I took this road."

"An unfortunate chance, sir, for you. A fortunate one for us," the
officer he addressed said in English, but with a strong accent,
"since you are our prisoner," and as he spoke he laid his hand on
Rupert's bridle.

Rupert gave an exclamation of horror at finding the mistake that he
had made, but he saw at once that resistance would be useless.

"Je me rends, monsieur. But what horrible luck."

The three French officers at the head of the troop burst into a
laugh.

"Monsieur," the one who had first spoken said, now in his native
tongue, "we are indebted to you, for you have made us laugh, and
heaven knows we have had little enough to laugh at today. But how
came you here? Your cavalry have taken the upper road. We were
drawn up to make a last charge, when we heard them turn off that
way; and were, I can tell you, glad enough to get off without more
fighting. We have had enough of it for one day."

As the speaker proceeded, Rupert became more and more convinced
that he knew the voice; and the fact that the speaker was
acquainted with English, the more convinced him that he was right.

"I stopped to get rid of a stone in my horse's hoof," he said. "If
I had only had a fight for it I should not have minded, but not
even to have the pleasure of exchanging a pass or two with one of
you gentlemen is hard indeed."

"It is just as well that you did not," one of the officers said,
"for Monsieur le Marquis de Pignerolles is probably the best
swordsman in our army."

"The Marquis de Pignerolles," Rupert said, courteously; "it would
have been a pleasure to have crossed swords with him, but scarcely
fair, for he knows already that he is not a match for me."

"What!" exclaimed the marquis himself and the two officers, in
astonishment.

"You are pleased to joke, sir," the marquis said haughtily.

"Not at all," Rupert said, gravely. "You have met two persons who
were your match. You remember Monsieur Dalboy?"

"Dalboy!" the marquis said. "Surely, surely, le Maitre Dalboy,
yet--?"

"No, I am assuredly not Monsieur Dalboy," Rupert said. "And the
other?"

The marquis reined in his horse suddenly.

"What!" he said, "you are--?"

"Rupert Holliday, my dear Monsieur Dessin."

"My dear, dear lad," the marquis exclaimed. "What pleasure! What
delight!" and drawing his horse by the side