Two of the prisoners were so grievously wounded that it was impossible for them to walk, and the soldiers were obliged to carry them on an improvised litter.

Torches were lighted, and the whole troop, with the prisoners, took the road to the town.
As they were leaving the forest to branch into the high-road, the gallop of a horse was heard.

It came on rapidly.

"Go on," said Roland; "I will stay here and find out what this means." It was a rider, who, as we have said, was advancing at full speed.
"Who goes there ?" cried Roland, raising his carbine when the rider was about twenty paces from him.
"One more prisoner, Monsieur de Montrevel," replied the rider, "I could not be in at the fight, but I will at least go to the scaffold.

Where are my friends ?" "There, sir," replied Roland, who had recognized, not the face, but the voice of the rider, a voice which he now heard for the third time.