thawed the
frozen condition of his joints. Yet he could not disguise from himself
that he was sorely worn by that night's happenings, and that, if he
would reach his goal, he must carefully husband such strength as yet
remained him.

That goal of his was Voiron, some four leagues distant to the north,
where, at the inn of the Beau Paon, his man, Rabecque, should be lodged,
ready for his coming at any time. Once already, when repairing to
Condillac, he had travelled by that road, and it was so direct that
there seemed scant fear of his mistaking it. On he plodded through the
night, his way lighted for him by the crescent moon, the air so still
that, despite his wet garments, being warmed as he was by his brisk
movements, he never felt the cold of it.

He had overheard enough of what had been said by Marius to Valerie to
understand the business that was afoot for the morrow, and he doubted
him that he had not sufficiently injured the Dowager's son to make him
refrain from or adjourn his murderous ride across the border into Savoy.

Garnache's purpose now was to reach Voiron, there to snatch a brief
rest, and then, equipped anew to set out with his man for La Rochette
and anticipate the fell plans of Marius and Fortunio.

He might have experienced elation at his almost miraculous escape and at
the circumstance that he was still at large to carry this duel with the
Condillacs to a fitting finish, were it not for the reflection that but
for his besetting sin of hastiness he might now be travelling in dry
garments toward La Rochette, with mademoiselle beside him. Once again
that rash temper of his had marred an enterprise that was on the point
of succeeding. And yet, even as he regretted his rashness, rage stirred
him again at the thought of Marius crushing that slender shape against
him and seeking to force his odious kisses upon her pure, immaculate
lips. And then the thought of her, left behind at Condillac at the
mercy of Marius and that she-devil the Marquise, and the fears that of
a sudden leapt up in his mind, brought him to a standstill, as though he
were contemplating the incomparable folly of a return. He beat his hands
together for a moment in a frenzy of anguish; he threw back his head
and raised his eyes to the sky above with a burst of imprecations on his
lips. And then reflection brought him peace. No, no; they dare offer
her no hurt. To do so must irrevocably lose them La Vauvraye; and it was
their coveto