gh a park."

"Did you turn into the drive?"

"Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that
all is safe."

"You saw no one?"

"No one."

"The chateau, then, lies some distance from the gates?"

"A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are outhouses and
stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I should say."

"Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with your men
now, but only some two hundred metres or so. Stay!" he added, as if on
second thoughts. "Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if
we are on the right track."

The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heard-the clang of
metal and the sound of retreating hoofs.

A few moments later the man returned.

"Yes, citizen," he reported, "the prisoner says it is quite right. The
Chateau d'Ourde lies a full league from its gates. This is the nearest
road to the chapel and the chateau. He says we should reach the former
in half an hour. It will be very dark in there," he added with a
significant nod in the direction of the wood.

Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach.
Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the window, following his
small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men,
catching at a horse's bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for
himself amongst the restless, champing animals, without the slightest
hesitation or fear.

Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against
the evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil of vapour which was blown
out of the horses' nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers;
it became more vague, almost ghost-like, through the mist and the
fast-gathering gloom.

Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she
could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called to citizen
Heron.

"We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen," she heard him
say. "If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet should be in
our charge within the hour."

A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the
forest answered him.

"If he is not," and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen
Heron--"if he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in this wood
tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way
back to Paris with me."

Some one laughed. It might have been one of the troopers