He fancied that his thought, the thought which had just flashed into his brain, was her thought; that she had the same notion in reserve, and that they were in sympathy.  And Tavannes, seeing them talking together, and noting her look and the fervour of her gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more darkly into himself.  The downfall of his plan for dazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and beyond compare, a plan dependent on the submission of Angers—­his disappointment in this might have roused the worst passions of a better man.  But there was in this man a pride on a level at least with his other passions:  and to bear himself in this hour of defeat and flight so that if she could not love him she must admire him, checked in a strange degree the current of his rage.

When Tignonville presently looked back he found that Count Hannibal and six of his riders had pulled up and were walking their horses far in the rear.  On which he would have done the same himself; but Badelon called over his shoulder the eternal “Forward, Monsieur, en avant!” and sullenly, hating the man and his master more deeply every hour, Tignonville was forced to push on, with thoughts of vengeance in his heart.

Trot, trot!  Trot, trot!  Through a country which had lost its smiling wooded character and grew more sombre and less fertile the farther they left the Loire behind them.  Trot, trot!  Trot, trot!—­for ever, it seemed to some.  Javette wept with fatigue, and the other women were little better.  The Countess herself spoke seldom except to cheer the Provost’s daughter; who, poor girl, flung suddenly out of the round of her life and cast among strangers, showed a better spirit than might have been expected.  At length, on the slopes of some low hills, which they had long seen before them, a cluster of houses and a church appeared; and Badelon, drawing rein, cried—­

“Beaupreau, Madame!  We stay an hour!”

It was six o’clock.  They had ridden some hours without a break.  With sighs and cries of pain the women dropped from their clumsy saddles, while the men laid out such food—­it was little—­as had been brought, and hobbled the horses that they might feed.  The hour passed rapidly, and when it had passed Badelon was inexorable.  There was wailing when he gave the word to mount again; and Tignonville, fiercely resenting this dumb, reasonless flight, was at heart one of the mutineers.  But Badelon said grimly that they might go on and live, or stay and die, as it pleased them; and once more they climbed painfully to their saddles, and jogged steadily on through the sunset, through the gloaming, through the darkness, across a weird, mysterious country of low hills and narrow plains which grew more wild and less cultivated as they advanced.  Fortunately the horses had been well saved during the long leisurely journey to Angers, and now went well and strongly.  When they at last unsaddled for the night in a little dismal wood within a mile of Clisson, they had placed some forty miles between themselves and Angers.