As he had come home from the futile public meeting, galloping through the streets and out upon the Seigneury road in the dusk, his horse had shied upon a bridge, where mischievous lads waylaid travellers with ghostly heads made of lighted candles in hollowed pumpkins, and horse and man had been plunged into the stream beneath.

His faithful servant Havel had seen the accident and dragged his insensible master from the water.
Now the Seigneur sat in the great arm-chair glowering out upon the cheerful day.

As he brooded, shaken and weak and bitter--all his thoughts were bitter now--a flash of scarlet, a glint of white plumes crossed his line of vision, disappeared, then again came into view, and horses' hoofs rang out on the hard road below.

He started to his feet, but fell back again, so feeble was he, then rang the bell at his side with nervous insistence.

A door opened quickly behind him, and his voice said imperiously: "Quick, Havel--to the door.