must return to le Mortier at once. You cannot go on as you are.' Without a word the old man put a cloak round the boy's shoulders. His teeth were chattering, and he accepted it. A shade of astonishment crossed Lucien's mind. After all, the boy was young, and Monsieur de Mesnard was not. 'The adventures of the Owls were far worse,' he said as he fastened it. Well, to-day I have been under water; to-morrow, we must hope, I shall be under fire. The episode will look funny enough in my Memoirs. It is a good beginning.' His Memoirs! What business had he to think of his Memoirs? A remarkable peasant boy, no doubt. Perhaps he had designed his dress also with a view to his Memoirs. 'You can take us back to le Mortier without crossing that cursed river again?' de Charette asked of the guide. Le Normand signed assent. Lucien thought that it must be midnight by the time they stood once more under the low porch. He could hardly believe his ears when he heard an astonished voice say: What! back again! It is only an hour and a half since you started.' 'You do not say so! What luck! Quick! some brandy and a change of under-clothing.' The boy was hurried upstairs by his host, de Charette and de Mesnard following. Le Normand disappeared into the kitchen. Lucien sank down on a fur rug close to the stove. He was thankful for rest and warmth, and he hoped they would stay there until morning. The hour that followed seemed to him to be five minutes long. 'Are the horses ready?' It was the inexorable boy calling over the balustrade. 'Dear me!' thought Lucien. 'Are we going to ride through that river now?' They are ready,' said the voice of the host below. De Charette came forward. 'Monsieur Sylvestre and I will walk in front,' he said. He turned to the boy, speaking with great respect, but firmly: You will be on horseback behind Le Normand. De Mesnard is to ride in the rear. If there is any sign of danger, I will lay my hand on your bridle, and you must fly-fly for your life. Will you promise me this?' 'I promise,' the boy said. 'Where are we going?' Lucien asked. 'To Bellecour, as before. But we cannot go by the river. We must get there while it is still dark; and one of us is too young, and one too old, for more walking; that makes the horses imperative. Still, they increase the risk. By the way, are you able to walk?' 'Perfectly.' Le Normand sprang into the saddle. De Mesnard was already on horseback. De Charette had turned back to reload the pistols he carried with him. The boy looked round. 'Will no one help me to mount?' he said. In an instant Lucien knew that this was not a boy at all, but a woman. CHAPTER XIII THE EMERALD RING LUCIEN pondered over his discovery as he walked along by the side of de Charette. The wind was conquering the rain at last. He had thought the boy a strange boy always, but he was accustomed to find strangeness in things which, to common people, were common enough. He had been a strange boy himself, so that he discounted first impressions. Most boys were not like that-so much he had learnt by this time. The boy was probably as common, for a boy, as the elm-tree out of which he dropped might be for an elm. Only the twilight hour, the budding, bewildering wood, the fancy of the live, womanish trees, caused them to appear magical. Yet he had pleased himself exceedingly with the recollection. For once the world without claimed some connection with the inner world, and common-sense could not explain everything. But if the boy were a woman? Later on, at le Mortier, when he saw the deference with which his lightest wish was treated by the elder men, it struck him that the peasant's dress must be a disguise. This was perhaps the scion of a noble house, deeply compromised in some Legitimist plot. But a woman! She is not pretty-she is not in the least pretty,' Lucien said to himself, as if the words were a defence. 'The tents!' muttered de Charette. 'I wish the rain had not stopped. It was darker before. Slowly -more slowly, Le Normand!' 'Do as he tells you!' cried de Mesnard in the tone of a man whose nerves are strained beyond endurance. 'Hush!' said the little figure. There is no cause for uneasiness yet.' The quiet pacing of the horses rang like thunder in Lucien's ears. How was it possible the sentries should not hear? Yet they went on unchallenged. De Mesnard groaned. Le Normand pulled up. Even de Charette hesitated. Go on,' said the quiet voice again; 'it is nothing.' 'Who can she be?' thought Lucien. Row upon row of tents. Did they reach to the end of the world? Would they never be passed? If they caught her, what would they do to her? The glimmer of the camp-fires died away at last; but there were houses all along the road. Here and there a light gleaming from a cottage window showed that one was sick and one was wakeful and one was dying in the little village of Montbert. De Charette signalled a halt. 'We cannot take the horses down the street. Someone would be sure to look out. Ride back, Le Normand, and be sure you make no noise. We must walk the rest of the way. Are you very tired, PetitPierre?' 'I never felt fresher in my life,' Petit-Pierre said, springing lightly to the ground. That was her peasant name, then! What softlysounding Louise, Claire, Isabelle, had she exchanged for it? Where was her father-where were her brothers, that they let her go masquerading through the world in this manner? Anything might happen; a furious desire to protect her filled Lucien's soul. It was one in the morning before they reached Belle cour. De Charette repeated the heavy double knock, the three light taps. An old woman opened the door, and smiled a broad beneficent welcome. 'Take the little gentleman here to the kitchen. Make up a good fire and get some supper. Where are the others, Marie?' 'Upstairs,' the old woman said, pointing to a ladder. Once more de Charette led the way. In a kind of loft, playing cards by the light of a candle stuck in a hole in the side of a cask, sat three young men, one of whom Lucien recognised as the adorer of Marion, another as the son of an illustrious father. The third was very young indeed, and handsome, with a trick of blushing like a girl. 'Where have I seen him before?' thought Lucien; and remembered him as the boy who led the crowd outside the editor's office in Lyons. 'So the warrants are out against you, Edouard?' 'That is nothing new. They will have to run a long way before they catch me. Le Romain here and Prévost de Saint-Marc are ready to answer for that.' 'With our lives!' de Saint-Marc said, and blushed crimson. 'Go down, René le Romain,' said de Charette; 'there is someone in the kitchen whom you will be in |