Again, on the one side, La Tribe's example went for something with his comrade in misfortune; but in the other scale hung relief from discomfort, with the prospect of a woman's smiles and a woman's flatteries, of dainty dishes, luxury, and passion.

If he went now, he went to her from the jaws of death, with the glamour of adventure and peril about him; and the very going into her presence was a lure.
Moreover, if he had been willing while his betrothed was still his, why not now when he had lost her?
It was this last reflection--and one other thing which came on a sudden into his mind--which turned the scale.

About noon he sat up in the hay, and, abruptly and sullenly, "I'll lie here no longer," he said; and he dropped his legs over the side.

"I shall go." The movement was so unexpected that La Tribe stared at him in silence.
Then, "You will run a great risk, M.de Tignonville," he said gravely, "if you do.

You may go as far under cover of night as the river, or you may reach one of the gates.