The young man's rage boiled up at the thought. Too vividly, too sharply
it showed him the wrongs which he had suffered at the hands of the man
who rode behind him, the man who even now drove him on and ordered him
and insulted him. He forgot that he might have perished in the general
massacre if Count Hannibal had not intervened. He forgot that Count
Hannibal had spared him once and twice. He laid on his enemy's shoulders
the guilt of all, the blood of all: and, as quick on the thought of his
wrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection that with every
league they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again,
and this time joyously--
"We are crossing! A little, and we shall be in our own land!"
The tears filled the Countess's eyes as she looked westwards and
southwards.
"Vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed. "I smell the sea!"
"Ay!" he answered, almost under his breath. "It lies there! And no more
than thirty leagues from us! With fresh horses we might see it in two
days!"
Badelon's voice broke in on them. "Forward!" he cried, as the party
reached the southern bank. "_En avant_!" And, obedient to the word, the
little company, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of
Ponts de Ce at a steady trot.
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