"All the cold was gone from the snows--long ago," she said.
"My beautiful!" he whispered; it was all he could say. "My beautiful!"
But she clutched his arm, startled.
"'Ware the road!" A wild halloo sounded ahead. The horn wound loudly.
"'Ware the road!" There sprang up out of the night a flying thunder of
hoof-beats. The gentlemen riding idly in front of the coach scattered to
the hedge-sides; and, with drawn swords flashing in the moon, a party of
horsemen charged down the highway, their cries blasting the night.
"Barber! Kill the barber!" they screamed. "Barber! Kill the barber!"
Beaucaire had but time to draw his sword when they were upon him.
"A moi!" his voice rang out clearly as he rose in his stirrups. "A moi,
Francois, Louis, Berquin! A moi, Francois!"
The cavaliers came straight at him. He parried the thrust of the first,
but the shock of collision hurled his horse against the side of the
coach. "Sacred swine!" he cried bitterly. "To endanger a lady, to make
this brawl in a lady's presence! Drive on!" he shouted.
"No!" cried Lady Mary.
The Frenchman's assailants were masked, but they were not highwaymen.
"Barber! Barber!" they shouted hoarsely, and closed in on him in a
circle.
"See how he use his steel!" laughed M. Beaucaire, as his point passed
through a tawdry waistcoat. For a moment he cut through the ring and
cleared a space about him, and Lady Mary saw his face shining in the
moonlight.
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