He looked over his shoulder, undecided. Léonie saw Saint-Vire snatch a pistol from his pocket, and drove her heels into the horse’s flanks with all her might. The animal leaped forward; something sang past Léonie’s cheek, scorching it; there was a terrific oath from Rupert, and the horse bolted with them down the road. A second explosion came, and Léonie felt Rupert lurch in the saddle, and heard the quick intake of his breath.
‘Touché, b’gad!’ he gasped. ‘On with you, you madcap!’
‘Laisse moi, laisse moi! ’ she cried, and snatched the bridle from him, urging the frightened horse round the bend. ‘Hold to me, Rupert, it is well now.’
Rupert could still laugh.
‘Well, is it? Gad – what a – chase! Steady, steady! There’s – lane – further down – turn into it – never reach – Le Havre.’
She twisted the bridle round her little hands, and pulled gallantly.
‘He will mount one of those horses,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘And he will ride to Le Havre. Yes, yes, we will turn down the lane; Rupert, mon pauvre, are you badly hurt?’
‘Right shoulder – ’tis naught. There – should be – village. There’s the lane! Steady him, steady him! Good girl! Hey, what an adventure!’
They swept into the lane, saw cottages ahead, and a farm. Of impulse Léonie pulled up her mount, turned aside to the hedge, and made the horse push through into the fields. Then on she drove him, cross-country, at a canter.
Rupert was swaying in the saddle.
‘What – will you be at?’ he said hoarsely.
‘Laisse moi! ’ she repeated. ‘That is too near the road. He would be sure to look for us. I go further.’
‘Damme, let him look for us! I’ll put a bullet through his black heart, so I will!’
Léonie paid no heed, but rode on with a wary eye on the look-out for shelter. Rupert, she knew, was losing blood fast, and could not long endure. To the right, in the distance, she saw a church spire, and made for it, a cold fear in her heart.
‘Have courage, Rupert! Hold to me, and it will be very well!’
‘Ay, I’m well enough,’ said Rupert faintly. ‘Courage be damned! It’s not I who’d run away! Burn it, I can’t get my hand to the hole he’s made in me! Gently, gently, and ’ware rabbit-holes!’
A mile further the village was reached, a little peaceful haven, with its church sitting placidly by. Men working on the fields stared in amazement at the fleeing couple, but they rode on into the cobbled street, and up it till they came upon a tiny inn, with a swinging board over the door, and stables lying tumbledown about the yard.
Léonie reined in, and the horse stood quivering. An ostler gaped at them, mop in hand.
‘You there!’ Léonie called imperiously. ‘Come and help m’sieur to the ground! Quickly, great fool! He is wounded by – by highwaymen!’
The man looked fearfully down the road, but seeing no dread footpad, came to do Léonie’s bidding. Then the landlord bustled out to see what was toward, an enormous man with a scratch wig on his head, and a twinkle in his eye. Léonie held out her hand to him.
‘Ah, la bonne chance !’ she cried. ‘Aid, m’sieur, I beg of you! We were travelling to Paris, and were set upon by a party of footpads.’
‘Tare an’ ouns!’ said Rupert. ‘Do you think I’d run from a parcel of greasy footpads? Think of another tale, for the love of God!’
The landlord slipped an arm about his lordship, and lifted him down. Léonie slid to the ground, and stood trembling.
‘Mon Dieu, what an escape!’ said the landlord. ‘These footpads! You, Hector! Take m’sieur’s legs, and help me bear him to a guest-chamber.’
‘Devil take you, leave my legs alone!’ swore Rupert. ‘I can – I can walk!’
But the landlord, a practical man, saw that he was almost fainting, and bore him without more ado up the stairs to a little chamber under the eaves. He and the ostler laid his lordship on the bed, and Léonie fell on her knees beside him.
‘Oh, but he is wounded to death!’ she cried. ‘Help me with his coat!’
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Rupert opened his eyes.
‘Fiddle!’ he said, and sank into unconsciousness.