Antoine complained in groans; Gilles growled openly, and went the
length of begging me, as we rode through the ill-paved, flooded
streets of Fenouillet, to go no farther. But I was adamant in my
resolve. Soaked to the skin, my clothes hanging sodden about me,
and chilled to the marrow though I was, I set my chattering teeth,
and swore that we should not sleep until we reached Toulouse.

"My God," he groaned, "and we but halfway!"

"Forward!" was all I answered; and so as midnight chimed we left
Fenouillet behind us, and dashed on into the open country and the
full fury of the tempest.

My servants came after me upon their stumbling horses, whining and
cursing by turns, and forgetting in their misery the respect that
they were accustomed to pay me. I think now that it was a providence
that guided me. Had I halted at Fenouillet, as they would have had
me do, it is odds that this chronicle would never have been penned,
for likely enough I had had my throat cut as I slept. A providence
was it also that brought my horse down within a half-mile of Blagnac,
and so badly did it founder that it might not be ridden farther.

The beasts my men bestrode were in little better condition, and so,
with infinite chagrin, I was forced to acknowledge defeat and to
determine that at Blagnac we should lie for the remainder of the
night. After all, it mattered little. A couple of hours' riding
in the morning would bring us to Toulouse, and we would start
betimes.

I bade Gilles dismount - he had been the louder in his complainings