ew more intense.
The pursuers urged each other on, and called out to head him off, every
time they saw Gaston run from one clump of trees to another.

Being familiar with the country, young De Clameran was confident of
eluding his pursuers. He knew that the next field was a thistle-field,
and was separated from the chestnut by a long, deep ditch.

He resolved to jump into this ditch, run along the bottom, and climb out
at the farther end, while they were looking for him among the trees.

But he had forgotten the swelling of the river. Upon reaching the ditch,
he found it full of water.

Discouraged but not disconcerted, he was about to jump across, when
three horsemen appeared on the opposite side.

They were gendarmes who had ridden around the madder-field and
chestnut-trees, knowing they could easily catch him on the level ground
of the thistle-field.

At the sight of these three men, Gaston stood perplexed.

He should certainly be captured if he attempted to run through the
field, at the end of which he could see the cabin of Pilorel the
ferryman.

To retrace his steps would be surrendering to the hussars.

At a little distance on his right was a forest, but he was separated
from it by a road upon which he heard the sound of approaching horses.
He would certainly be caught there.

Foes in front of him, foes behind him, foes on the right of him! What
was on his left?

On his left was the surging, foaming river.

What hope was left? The circle of which he was the centre was fast
narrowing.

Must he, then, fall back upon suicide? Here in an open field, tracked by
police like a wild beast, must he blow his brains out? What a death for
a De Clameran!

No! He would seize the one chance of salvation left him: a forlorn,
desperate, perilous chance, but still a chance--the river.

Holding a pistol in either hand, he ran and leaped upon the edge of a
little promontory, projecting three yards into the Rhone.

This cape of refuge was formed by the immense trunk of a fallen tree.

The tree swayed and cracked fearfully under Gaston's weight, as he stood
on the extreme end, and looked around upon his pursuers; there were
fifteen of them, some on the right, some on the left, all uttering cries
of joy.

"Do you surrender?" called out the corporal.

Gaston did not answer; he was weighing his chances. He was above the
park of La Verberie; would he be able to swim there, granting that he
was not swept away and d