When I was near tumbling with a kind of rib-ache and could hear no pursuer, I pulled up.  There was silence about me, save the sound of a light breeze in the tree-tops.  I rolled off my horse, and hooked my elbow in the reins, and lay on my belly, grunting with pain.  I felt better, having got my breath, and a rod of beech to bite upon—­a good thing if one has been badly stung and has a journey to make.  In five minutes I was up and off at a slow jog, for I knew I was near safety.

I thought much of poor D’ri and how he might be faring.  The last I had seen of him, he was making good use of pistol and legs, running from tree to tree.  He was a dead shot, little given to wasting lead.  The drums were what worried me, for they indicated a big camp, and unless he got to the stirrups in short order, he must have been taken by overwhelming odds.  It was near sundown when I came to a brook and falls I could not remember passing.  I looked about me.  Somewhere I had gone off the old trail—­everything was new to me.  It widened, as I rode on, up a steep hill.  Where the tree-tops opened, the hill was covered with mossy turf, and there were fragrant ferns on each side of me.  The ground was clear of brush and dead timber.  Suddenly I heard a voice singing—­a sweet girl voice that thrilled me, I do not know why, save that I always longed for the touch of a woman if badly hurt.  But then I have felt that way having the pain of neither lead nor steel.  The voice rang in the silent woods, but I could see no one nor any sign of human habitation.  Shortly I came out upon a smooth roadway carpeted with sawdust.  It led through a grove, and following it, I came suddenly upon a big green mansion among the trees, with Doric pillars and a great portico where hammocks hung with soft cushions in them, and easy-chairs of old mahogany stood empty.  I have said as little as possible of my aching wound:  I have always thought it bad enough for one to suffer his own pain.  But I must say I was never so tried to keep my head above me as when I came to that door.  Two figures in white came out to meet me.  At first I did not observe—­I had enough to do keeping my eyes open—­that they were the Mlles. de Lambert.

“God save us!” I heard one of them say.  “He is hurt; he is pale.  See the blood running off his boot-leg.”

Then, as one took the bit, the other eased me down from my saddle, calling loudly for help.  She took her handkerchief—­that had a perfume I have not yet forgotten—­as she supported me, and wiped the sweat and dust from my face.  Then I saw they were the splendid young ladies I had seen at the count’s table.  The discovery put new life in me; it was like a dash of water in the face.  I lifted my hat and bowed to them.

“Ladies, my thanks to you,” I said in as good French as I knew.  “I have been shot.  May I ask you to send for a doctor?”

A butler ran down the steps; a gardener and a stable-boy hurried out of the grove.