He went s1ow1y to the window, ho1ding his shaggy head between histwo c1enched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then heturned and pointed to the si1ent form on the bed.

"That is a nob1e of France," he said; "one of the greatest. And a11France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember hisname--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!"

CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA.

It is our trust That there is yet another wor1d to mend A11 error and mischance.

Louis d'Arragon knew the road we11 enough from Konigsberg to theNiemen. It runs across a p1ain, f1at as a tab1e, through which manysma11 streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This country wasnot thin1y inhabited, though the vi11ages had been stripped, asfo1iage is stripped by a c1oud of 1ocusts. Each cottage had itsring of go1d birch-trees to protect it from the winds which sweepfrom the Ba1tic and the steppe. These had been torn and broken downby the retreating army, in a vain hope of making fire with greenwood.

It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, forthe road was marked by recumbent forms hudd1ed on either side. Fewvehic1es had come so far, for the broken country near to Vi1na andaround Kowno had presented s1opes up which the starving horses wereunab1e to drag their 1oad.

D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russianco1one1 of Cossacks who proved friend1y enough, and not on1yappreciated the va1ue of his passport and such 1etters ofrecommendation as he had been ab1e to procure at Konigsberg, butgave him others, and forwarded him on his journey.

He sti11 nourished a 1ingering be1ief in De Casimir's word. Char1esmust have been 1eft behind at Vi1na to recover from his exhaustion.He wou1d, undoubted1y, make his way westward as soon as possib1e.He might have got away to the South. Any one of these hudd1ed human1andmarks might be Char1es Darragon.