"Tremont," said Richard.

"It can't be much farther. There's no seeing to find out his injuries here, but if you could help to get him over the saddle in front of me, Master Richard, I could take him along slowly."

A feeble light glimmered presently along the road, which proved to be the light from a tavern which stood at one end of the village, a rough and not attractive house of entertainment, a fact that the neighbors seemed to appreciate, for no sound came from it.

"Those who attacked him may be there, Master Richard, refreshing themselves after their dastardly work."

"They must be saying silent prayers of repentance, then. Stay in the shadows, Seth; I'll make inquiry."

Leading his horse, Barrington went to the door and called for the landlord. He had to call twice before an old man shuffled along a dark pa.s.sage from the rear of the house and stood before him.

"Are there lodgings for travelers here?"

"Lodgings, but no travelers. Tremont's deserted except by children and invalids. All in Paris, monsieur. Ay, these be hard times for some of us."

"I'm for Paris, but must rest here to-night."

"You're welcome, monsieur, and we'll do our best, but it's poor fare you'll get and that not cheap."

"Are there no travelers in the house?"

"None; none for these two months."

"No visitor of any kind?"

"None. Only four to-day, and they cursed me and my wine."

"I have a friend with me, and a wounded man. We found him by the roadside."

"We'll do our best," said the landlord, and he turned away and called for his wife.

As Barrington and Seth carried the wounded man in, the landlord looked at him and started.

"You know him?" asked Barrington sharply.

"I saw him only to-day. I'll tell you when you've got him comfortable in his bed."

"Is there a doctor in Tremont?"

"No, monsieur. Over at Lesville there's one, unless he's gone to Paris with the rest, but he couldn't be got here until the morning.".

"I may make shift to patch him up to-night, Master Richard," said Seth.

"I helped the doctors a bit before Yorktown, when I was with the Colonel."

Possibly no physician or surgeon would have been impressed with Seth's methods. He was never intended to dress wounds, and yet his touch was gentle.

"He'll do until the doctor comes to-morrow," said Seth, as he presently found Barrington at the frugal meal.

The landlord apologized for the frugality, but it was all he could do.

"May I never face less when I am hungry," said Barrington. "You saw this man to-day, landlord, you say?"

"Yes. I told you that four men cursed me and my wine. They had been here an hour or more, talking of what was going forward in Paris, and of some business which they were engaged upon. I took little note of what they said, for every one is full of important business in these days, monsieur, but the man who lies upstairs presently rode past. I saw him from this window, and my four guests saw him, too. They laughed and settled their score, and five minutes later had brought their horses from the stable behind the inn and were riding in the direction he had taken."

"And attacked him a little later, no doubt."

"It would seem so," said the landlord.

"Should they return, keep it a secret that you have a wounded man in the house. Will that purchase your silence?"

The landlord looked at the coins Barrington dropped into his hand.

"Thank you, monsieur, you may depend upon it that no one shall know."

Seth presently went to see the patient again, and returned in a few moments to say he was conscious.

"I told him where we found him, and he wants to see you, Master Richard."

"Your doctoring must be wonderfully efficacious, Seth."

"Brandy is a good medicine," was the answer; "but the man's in a bad way. He may quiet down after he's seen you."

The man moved slightly as Barrington entered the room, and when he spoke his words came slowly and in a whisper, yet with some eagerness.

"They left me for dead, monsieur; they were disturbed, perhaps."

"Why did they attack you?"

"I was carrying a message."

"A letter--and they stole it?" asked Barrington.

"No, a message. It was not safe to write."

"To whom was the message?"

"To a woman, my mistress, from her lover. He is in the hands of the rabble, and only she can save him. For the love of Heaven, monsieur, take the message to her. I cannot go."

"What is her name?" Barrington asked.

"Mademoiselle St. Clair."

"Certainly, she shall have it. How shall I make her understand?"

"Say Lucien prays her to come to Paris. In my coat yonder, in the lining of the collar, is a little gold star, her gift to him. Say Rouzet gave it to you because he could travel no farther. She will understand. You must go warily, and by an indirect road, or they will follow you as they did me."

"And where shall I find Mademoiselle St. Clair?"