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At a walk, at a trot, more often at a jaded amble, they pushed on behind Badelon's humped shoulders.
He failed to do so at the first touch, and, quailing, fled from Badelon's levelled pistol.
The blood rushed to his head; almost the tears to eyes which had not shed them since boyhood, and would not shed them now, weak as he was! He rose on his elbow and looked with a full heart; it was as he had fancied. Badelon's stool was empty; the embrasure that was empty too.
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!"
Her breast heaved, her colour came, involuntarily she checked her horse, as if she would return to him, and speak to him. Then the Carlats and the others closed up behind her, Badelon's monotonous "Forward, Madame, en avant!" proclaimed the day's journey begun, and she saw him no more.
He put his finger to his lip, and looked warningly at Badelon's humped shoulders, jogging up and down in front of them. Then, stooping towards her, in a lower tone, "If Carlat has arrived before us, he will have told them," he said. "Have told them?" "He came by the other road, and it is quicker."
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