tears filled the Countess's eyes as she looked westwards and
southwards.

"Vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed. "I smell the sea!"

"Ay!" he answered, almost under his breath. "It lies there! And no more
than thirty leagues from us! With fresh horses we might see it in two
days!"

Badelon's voice broke in on them. "Forward!" he cried, as the party
reached the southern bank. "_En avant_!" And, obedient to the word, the
little company, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of
Ponts de Ce at a steady trot. Nor was the Countess the only one whose
face glowed, being set southwards, or whose heart pulsed to the rhythm of
the horses' hoofs that beat out "Home!" Carlat's and Madame Carlat's
also. Javette even, hearing from her neighbour that they were over the
Loire, plucked up courage; while La Tribe, gazing before him with
moistened eyes, cried "Comfort" to the scared and weeping girl who clung
to his belt. It was singular to see how all sniffed the air as if
already it smacked of the sea and of the south; and how they of Poitou
sat their horses as if they asked nothing better than to ride on and on
and on until the scenes of home arose about them. For them the sky had
already a deeper blue, the air a softer fragrance, the sunshine a purity
long unknown.

Was it wonderful, when they had suffered so much on that northern bank?
When their experience during the month had been comparable only with the
direst nightmare? Yet one among them, after the first impulse of relief
and satisfaction, felt differently. Tignonville's gorge rose against the
sense of compulsion, of inferiority. To be driven forward after this
fashion, whether he would or no, to be placed at the back of every base-
born man-at-arms, to have no clearer knowledge of what had happened or of
what was passing, or of the peril from which they fled, than the women
among whom he rode--these things kindled anew the sullen fire of hate.
North of the Loire there had been some excuse for his inaction under
insult; he had been in the man's country and power. But south of the
Loire, within forty leagues of Huguenot Niort, must he still suffer,
still be supine?

His rage was inflamed by a disappointment he presently underwent. Looking
back as they rode clear of the wooden houses of Ponts de Ce, he missed
Tavannes and several of his men; and he wondered if Count Hannibal had
remained on his own side of the river. It seemed possible;