ears had heard it
already. It had, indeed, saved Ratoneau from being shot dead on the
spot, for the child had let go her hold on her cousin's dress with one
hand and had clutched the tiny, beautiful pistol with which her father
had trusted her, and which she had hidden inside her frock. True, she
was shaking with the terrible excitement of the moment, she was nearly
dragged off her feet by the horse's plunging backwards, and a correct
aim seemed almost impossible--but her father had told her to defend
Angelot's wife, and Riette was very sure that this wicked man should not
carry away Helene, as long as she had life and a weapon to prevent it.
And if she could have understood those words to Marie,--"send you after
your master"--there would have been no hesitation at all.

At the same moment, she and the General turned their heads and looked up
the lane. Something wild and lithe, bright and splendid, came flying
straight down from the east, from the heart of the sunrise. The
swiftness with which Angelot darted upon them was almost supernatural.
He might have been a young god of the Greeks, flashing from heaven to
rescue his earthly love from an earthly ravisher.

Ratoneau was not prepared for such a sudden and fiery onslaught. It was
easy, the work he expected--to tear Helene from the company of a woman
and child, to carry her off to Sonnay. He considered her his own
property, given to him by the Emperor, stolen from him by her father and
Angelot. It would be easy, he told himself, to have the absurd midnight
ceremony declared illegal; or if not, he would soon find means to put
Angelot out of his way. By fair means or by foul, he meant to have the
girl and to marry her. If his method was that of the ancient
Gauls--well, she would forgive him in time! Women love a hero, however
roughly he may treat them. He thought he had learnt that from
experience; and if Helene de Sainfoy thought herself too good for him,
she must find her level. The man swore to himself that he loved her, and
would be good to her, when once she was his own. As he lifted her on the
horse he knew he loved her with all the violent instincts of a coarse
and unrestrained nature.

And now came vengeance, darting upon him like a bolt from the shining
sky. Before his slower senses even knew what was happening, before,
encumbered with his prey, he could fire a pistol or draw his sword,
Helene had been snatched from him into Angelot's arms. No leave asked of