rn strap that was passed round her and her captor, answered in a
hoarse, shrill tone, "I am here." Clinging to the strap, he ran along
beside the galloping horse--like the grooms that the Romans called
desultores--and strove with all his might to pull the rider down out
of his saddle. He did not dare to use his sword to disable him, as they
struggled together, lest he should wound Isabelle also; and, meantime,
the man on horseback was trying his utmost to shake off his fierce
assailant-unsuccessfully, because he had both hands fully occupied with
his horse and his captive, who was doing all she could to slip from his
grasp, and throw herself into her lover's arms. Loosing his hold on the
rein for a second, the horseman managed to draw a knife from his girdle,
and with one blow severed the strap to which the baron was clinging;
then, driving his spurs into the horse's sides made the frightened
animal spring suddenly forward, while de Sigognac--who was not prepared
for this emergency, and found himself deprived of all support--fell
violently upon his back in the road. He was up again in an instant, and
flying after Isabelle, who was now being borne rapidly away from him,
and whose cries for help came more and more faintly to his ear; but the
moment he had lost made his pursuit hopeless, and he knew that it was
all in vain when he saw her disappear behind the thicket her ravisher
had been aiming for from the first. His heart sank within him, and he
staggered as he still ran feebly on--feeling now the effects of his
superhuman exertions, and fearing at each step that his feet would carry
him no farther. He was soon overtaken by Herode and Scapin, who, alarmed
by the pistol shot, and fearing that something was wrong, had started
in hot pursuit, though the lackey who served them as guide had done all
that he possibly could to hinder them, and in a few faltering words he
told them what had occurred.

"Vallombreuse again!" cried the tyrant, with an oath. "But how the devil
did he get wind of our expedition to the Chateau de Pommereuil? or can
it be possible that it was all a plot from the beginning, and we are
bound on a fool's errand? I really begin to think it must be so. If it
is true, I never saw a better actor in my life than that respectable old
major-domo, confound him! But let us make haste and search this grove
thoroughly; we may find some trace of poor Isabelle; sweet creature that
she is! Rough old tyrant though I be,