"How long have you been there, Michelot?" I asked.
"Half an hour, mayhap."
"Saw you a closed carriage pass?"
"Ten minutes ago I saw one go by, followed by M. de St. Auban and a
gentleman who greatly resembled M. de Vilmorin, besides an escort of four
of the most villainous knaves--"
"That is the one," I broke in. "Quick, Michelot! Arm yourself and get
your horse; I have need of you. Come, knave, move yourself!"
At the end of a few minutes we set out at a sharp trot, leaving the curious
ones whom my loud-voiced commands had assembled, to speculate upon the
meaning of so much bustle. Once clear of the township we gave the reins to
our horses, and our trot became a gallop as we travelled along the road to
Meung, with the Loire on our right. And as we went I briefly told Michelot
what was afoot, interlarding my explanations with prayers that we might
come upon the kidnappers before they crossed the river, and curses at the
flying pace of our mounts, which to my anxious mind seemed slow.
At about a mile from Blois the road runs over an undulation of the ground
that is almost a hill.
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