"Henceforth," he continued, a ring of exultation in his voice, "it will go hard with M.le Comte, if he does not treat you better than he has treated you hitherto.
That is all!" "You mean that it will go hard with him in any case ?" she cried, her bosom rising and falling.
"I mean, Madame--But there they are! Good Carlat! Brave Carlat! He has done well!" "Carlat ?" "Ay, there they are! And you are mistress in your own land! At last you are mistress, and you have me to thank for it! See!" And heedless in his exultation whether Badelon understood or not, he pointed to a place before them where the road wound between two low hills.

Over the green shoulder of one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflected the last evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on the hillside above, and began to make signs to persons below.

A pennon, too, showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone.
Badelon looked as they looked.

The next instant he uttered a low oath, and dragged his horse across the front of the party.
"Pierre!" he cried to the man on his left, "ride for your life! To my lord, and tell him we are ambushed!" And as the trained soldier wheeled about and spurred away, the sacker of Rome turned a dark scowling face on Tignonville.

"If this be your work," he hissed, "we shall thank you for it in hell! For it is where most of us will lie to-night! They are Montsoreau's spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal with than themselves!" Then in a different tone, and throwing off all disguise, "Men to the front!" he shouted.