but a woman is exempt from having to
give reasons. It is my wish,--is not that enough? I am so deeply your
debtor already,--let me be your debtor in this one thing more.--You have
spent money for me: I have no means of repaying--nay, I will not mention
it,--you have given me so much that is above all price,--your courage
and skill. But enough of this--to speak of such things in my poor way is
to cheapen them. Adieu, Monsieur!--adieu, Henri!"

She held out her hand, to which I lowered my lips without a word, for I
could not speak.

"You will go your way when I go mine," she said with tenderness. "To
Paris, perhaps?"

"To Paris--I suppose so," I said vaguely.

"This horse belongs to Hugues," she said, stroking the animal's neck. "I
may find means to send it back to him.--Well, adieu! God be with you on
your journey, Monsieur,--and through your life."

"Oh, Madame!--adieu, if you will have it so! adieu!--adieu, Louis!"

She smiled acquiescently at my use of the name by which I had had
occasion to call her a few times at our lodging-places. Then, saying
once more, "Adieu, Henri!" she turned her horse's head and started down
the by-road. With a heavy heart, I waited till she had disappeared in
the woods. I had hoped she might look back, but she had not done so.

A movement of my rein, which I made without intention, was taken by my
horse as a signal to go on, and the creature, resuming its original
direction, kept to the highway and plodded along toward Bonneval and
Paris.

Never in all my life, before or since, have I felt so alone. What was
there for me to do now? All my care, all my heart, was with the solitary
figure on horseback somewhere yonder in the forest. Had life any object
for me elsewhere?

Yes, faith!--and I laughed ironically as it came back to my thoughts--I
might now go on to Paris and cut off the moustaches of Brignan de
Brignan!

CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE FOREST

But I had not yet come in sight of Bonneval, when fearful misgivings
began to assail me as to what might befall the Countess. I awoke to a
full sense of my folly in yielding to her wish. Her own apparent
confidence of safety had made me, for a time, feel there must be indeed
small danger. I had too weakly given way to her right of command in the
case. I had been too easily checked by respect for what private reason
she might have for wishing to go on without company. I had played the
boy and the fool, and if ever there had been