not afford to waste
much time, for Jerome might perchance find means to follow, and would
not be in a pleasant humor. There could be no accounting for the
lengths to which his desperation and folly might carry him. I had need
for both haste and caution.

I was now at the top of a slight hillock, the grooms resting at the
foot. As ill fortune would have it, my horse's hoof loosened a stone,
and one of them looking up recognized my figure clear drawn against the
fading colors of the sky. They both jumped up with an alertness which
would have done credit to old woodsmen, and before I could dodge by,
had remounted and taken possession of the road. My more elevated
position and perhaps better hearing, too, enabled me to detect the
coming of persons along the road from Paris. Certainly as many as
three or four horsemen, perhaps a vehicle. It could hardly be possible
that Jerome had made the trip so quickly, yet I did not know what other
and shorter way he might find. At any rate every instant intensified
the danger, for if it were Jerome, then, indeed, I could not hope to
make Versailles that night.

Listening more critically I decided they were travelling too slowly to
be Jerome's party.

I would then most gladly have charged the insolents in front and taken
all chances, but my half hour of quiet thought had brought me the
conclusion it was too much to risk my life, at least until Serigny was
acquainted with the information we had gained. I, too, was the only
person who knew of the traitors on board le Dauphin.

"Who are you, and what do you mean stopping a gentleman's path?" I
called to the twain who had drawn a little away from the foot of the
hill seeing the disadvantage of their former position in case I charged
them, and preferring to receive me on the open ground.

"No harm, Monsieur, we only mean to detain you until M. de Greville
comes up," the slender man spoke quite politely.

"M. de Greville will not come up this night--may God have mercy on his
soul," I added solemnly.

"Why not, fine sir?" the gruffer fellow on the big bay questioned with
some heat. I made no quibble on his manner, but replied:

"I doubt I have slain him. He lies back yonder in the road to Sceaux,
and I know not whether he be dead or still lives."

They hesitated and consulted together in a low tone; I saw my
opportunity to press their indecision.

"What excuse can you make and what authority have you for halting an
offic