It was the face of the man whose eyes had sought hers from the steps of the church in Angers; the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of the Church--to his misfortune.
Through?
Yes, through, the way was clear before them! The fight with its screams and curses died away behind them.

The horses swayed and all but sank under them.

But Badelon knew it no time for mercy; iron-shod hoofs rang on the road behind, and at any moment the pursuers might be on their heels.

He flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared on either side of the way; on, until the road forked and the Countess with strange readiness cried "The left!"-- on, until the beach appeared below them at the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the slow heaving grey of the ocean.
The tide was high.

The causeway ran through it, a mere thread lipped by the darkling waves, and at the sight a grunt of relief broke from Badelon.