him once and twice. He laid on his enemy’s shoulders the guilt of all, the blood of all: and, as quick on the thought of his wrongs and his fellows’ wrongs followed the reflection that with every league they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again, and this time joyously—
“We are crossing! A little, and we shall be in our own land!”
The 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 Cé 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?
