he said.

"Have told them?"

"He came by the other road, and it is quicker."

She gazed at him in astonishment, her lips parted; and slowly she
understood, and her eyes grew hard.

"Then why," she said, "did you say it was longer. Had we been overtaken,
Monsieur, we had had you to thank for it, it seems!"

He bit his lip. "But we have not been overtaken," he rejoined. "On the
contrary, you have me to thank for something quite different."

"As unwelcome, perhaps!" she retorted. "For what?"

"Softly, Madame."

"For what?" she repeated, refusing to lower her voice. "Speak, Monsieur,
if you please." He had never seen her look at him in that way.

"For the fact," he answered, stung by her look and tone, "that when you
arrive you will find yourself mistress in your own house! Is that
nothing?"

"You have called in my people?"

"Carlat has done so, or should have," he answered. "Henceforth," he
continued, a ring of exultation in his voice, "it will go hard with M. le
Comte, if he does not treat you better than he has treated you hitherto.
That is all!"

"You mean that it will go hard with him in any case?" she cried, her
bosom rising and falling.

"I mean, Madame--But there they are! Good Carlat! Brave Carlat! He has
done well!"

"Carlat?"

"Ay, there they are! And you are mistress in your own land! At last you
are mistress, and you have me to thank for it! See!" And heedless in
his exultation whether Badelon understood or not, he pointed to a place
before them where the road wound between two low hills. Over the green
shoulder of one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflected the
last evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on the
hillside above, and began to make signs to persons below. A pennon, too,
showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone.

Badelon looked as they looked. The next instant he uttered a low oath,
and dragged his horse across the front of the party.

"Pierre!" he cried to the man on his left, "ride for your life! To my
lord, and tell him we are ambushed!" And as the trained soldier wheeled
about and spurred away, the sacker of Rome turned a dark scowling face on
Tignonville. "If this be your work," he hissed, "we shall thank you for
it in hell! For it is where most of us will lie to-night! They are
Montsoreau's spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal with
than themselves!" Then in a different tone, and