"
"And I have three strong sons," said the innkeeper, impudently. But he
brought the wine, and ordered one of his sons to bring oats for the
horse. So we made our breakfast there, horse and man, standing before the
inn door. When the animal had licked up the last grain, I suddenly hurled
the heavy wine-mug at the innkeeper's head, wheeled my horse about, and
galloped off, shouting back to the half-stunned rascal, "Your three sons
must be swift, as well as strong, to take my sword." And I rode on,
southward.
"Will the Guisards follow me over this river, also?" I asked myself, as
I crossed the Garonne.
In the afternoon, I stopped for another look backward. There was not a
soul to be seen on the road.
"Adieu, M. Barbemouche!" I said. "I believe you have grown tired of
me at last."
At that instant a group appeared at the distant turn of the road. I
counted them. Seven! And they were coming on at the speed of the wind.
I patted my horse on his quivering neck. "Come, old comrade," I said.
"Now for one last, long race. In your legs lies my future."
He obeyed the spur, and his increased pace revealed a slight lameness,
which had not before been perceptible.
"We have only to reach some Gascon town," I said to him. "The soldiers
of the King of Navarre will protect the bearer of a letter to him from
their Queen."
I turned in my saddle, and looked back.
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