of unpleasant surprise.

Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallen
over the party.

"We leave at daybreak, of course," he said, "as soon as the gates are
open. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a lift as far
as St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?"

"He is a well-known farmer," replied Blakeney. "You have but to ask."

"Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings in
the village that night, and make a fresh start back towards Paris in the
evening of Sunday. Is that right?"

"Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Pack
some fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten o'clock. Ride
straight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris,
until you come to four cross-roads with a sign-post pointing to
Courbevoie. Turn down there and go along the road until you meet a close
spinney of fir-trees on your right. Make for the interior of that. It
gives splendid shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses a
feed. We'll join you one hour after midnight. The night will be dark, I
hope, and the moon anyhow will be on the wane."

"I think I understand. Anyhow, it's not difficult, and we'll be as
careful as maybe."

"You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you," concluded
Blakeney.

He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not made
a movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings and the chief. He
still sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast.

Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried in
thought. Through the open window there came from the quay beyond the hum
of life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, the
words of command from the drill-sergeant, and through it all the moaning
of the wind and the beating of the sleet against the window-panes.

A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeney
gave a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he pushed it
further open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll of
drums, and from below the watchman's cry that seemed such dire mockery:

"Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful."

"Sound advice," said Blakeney lightly. "Shall we also go to sleep? What
say you all--eh?"

He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action,
already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a moment ago when