close upon us!” she murmured, as she urged her horse in obedience to the order.
“Whoever they are!” Tignonville muttered bitterly. “If we knew what had happened, or who followed, we should know more about it, Madame. For that matter, I know what I wish he would do. And our heads are set for it.”
“What?”
“Make for Vrillac!” he answered, a savage gleam in his eyes.
“For Vrillac?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, if he would!” she cried, her face turning pale. “If he would. He would be safe there!”
“Ay, quite safe!” he answered with a peculiar intonation. And he looked at her askance.
He fancied that his thought, the thought which had just flashed into his brain, was her thought; that she had the same notion in reserve, and that they were in sympathy. And Tavannes, seeing them talking together, and noting her look and the fervour of her gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more darkly into himself. The downfall of his plan for dazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and beyond compare, a plan dependent on the submission of Angers—his disappointment in this might have roused the worst passions of a better man. But there was in this man a pride on a level at least with his other passions: and to bear himself in this hour of defeat and flight so that if she could not love him she must admire him, checked in a strange degree the current of his rage.
When Tignonville presently looked back he found that Count Hannibal and six of his riders had pulled up and were walking their horses far in the rear. On which he would have done the same himself; but Badelon called over his shoulder the eternal “Forward, Monsieur, en avant!” and sullenly, hating the man and his master more
