The Countess was one--the others were the two men whose thoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again sought her, La Tribe's with sombre fire in their depths, Count Hannibal's fraught with a gloomy speculation, which belied his brave words to Madame St.Lo.
He, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; dark ones, which did not touch her.

And she, too, had other thoughts at times, dreams of her young lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry out of the darkness which had suddenly whelmed her.

So that of the three only La Tribe was single-minded.
This day they rode a long league after sunset, through a scattered oak- wood, where the rabbits sprang up under their horses' heads and the squirrels made angry faces at them from the lower branches.

Night was hard upon them when they reached the southern edge of the forest, and looked across the dusky open slopes to a distant light or two which marked where Vendome stood.
"Another league," Count Hannibal muttered; and he bade the men light fires where they were, and unload the packhorses.

"'Tis pure and dry here," he said.