f Pillot's face at this
time. The fellow was a born actor and might have made a fortune on the
stage. Now, his eyes rolled in fright, he was the very picture of
misery, and he cried in trembling accents, "Fly, monsieur, fly, or we
are dead men! Oh, good people, I pray you, do not hurt us. I will
give you five pistoles--ten even----"

"Be still!" I exclaimed roughly, "what a coward you are!"

Again the gruff voice sounded, and just as I turned my horse's head, a
dozen men, or more, came rushing up, while some one shouted in bad
French, "Halt, or we fire!"

Pillot gave a scream of fright and jumped down, while I galloped off.
The ride was not a long one, however, for my horse had scarcely got
into his stride when a bullet struck him and he rolled over, pinning my
leg to the ground. In an instant the soldiers were around me, and
Pillot was crying fearfully, "Do not kill him, good people. He is a
high officer and a friend of the King's. He is on an errand for His
Majesty now. Oh, I will give you five, ten pistoles, and----"

"Cease that noise and answer my questions," exclaimed some one in
French. "Who is your master, and where is he going?"

I did not hear Pillot's reply. My leg had been released, but the pain
caused me to faint, and several days passed before I was able to
understand what had happened. Then I found myself in a bed in a small
chamber, with Pillot waiting upon me. He would not talk much at first,
but after a time he recounted in high glee how the soldiers had
discovered Mazarin's note, and how the Spanish general had almost
immediately broken up the camp and withdrawn the greater part of his
troops.

"And where are we now?" I asked.

"In Compiegne, monsieur. The surgeon says you will not be fit for the
field for months, but in a fortnight or so I am going to take you in a
carriage to Paris," and his face beamed with delight.

"I wonder if the Cardinal knows what happened?"

"Yes, monsieur. I sent him word by a trusty courier. Monsieur should
be made a nobleman."

I did not wish that, but I was gratified when, on the very day before
setting out for Paris, a special courier brought me this note, written
by the Cardinal himself:

"Well done, De Lalande! Get well soon. Your services will not be
forgotten."

My leg was still painful, and I could not use it at all, but Pillot had
hired a roomy carriage, and fitted it up with soft cushions. Indeed,
his thoughtfulness was remarkabl