He laid on his enemy's shoulders the guilt of all, the blood of all: and, as quick on the thought of his wrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection that with every league they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again, and this time joyously-- "We are crossing! A little, and we shall be in our own land!" The tears filled the Countess's eyes as she looked westwards and southwards.
"Vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed.

"I smell the sea!" "Ay!" he answered, almost under his breath.

"It lies there! And no more than thirty leagues from us! With fresh horses we might see it in two days!" Badelon's voice broke in on them.

"Forward!" he cried, as the party reached the southern bank.

"_En avant_!" And, obedient to the word, the little company, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of Ponts de Ce at a steady trot.