He failed to do so at
the first touch, and, quailing, fled from Badelon's levelled pistol. A
watchman on one of the bastions of the wall shouted to them to halt or he
would fire: but the riders yelled in derision, and thundering through the
echoing archway, emerged into the open, and saw, extended before them, in
place of the gloomy vistas of the Black Town, the glory of the open
country and the vine-clad hills, and the fields about the Loire yellow
with late harvest.
The women gasped their relief, and one or two who were most out of breath
would have pulled up their horses and let them trot, thinking the danger
at an end. But a curt savage word from the rear set them flying again,
and down and up and on again they galloped, driven forward by the iron
hand which never relaxed its grip of them. Silent and pitiless he
whirled them before him until they were within a mile of the long Ponts
de Ce--a series of bridges rather than one bridge--and the broad shallow
Loire lay plain before them, its sandbanks grilling in the sun, and grey
lines of willows marking its eyots. By this time some of the women,
white with fatigue, could only cling to their saddles with their hands;
while others were red-hot, their hair unrolled, and the perspiration
mingled with the dust on their faces.
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