"Good Lord!—and then?" cried Victoire.
"Then I had a revulsion of feeling. At any rate, I'd stick it out to the end. I gave myself another minute. . . one more minute—the last, and I had my revolver on me. . . but during that minute I put forth every ounce of strength I had left . . . I began to gain ground . . . I had them pretty well strung out already . . . they were blown too. The knowledge gave me back my courage, and I plugged on . . . my feet did not feel so much as though they were made of lead. I began to run away from them . . . they were dropping behind . . . all of them but one . . . he stuck to me. We went at a jog-trot, a slow jog-trot, for I don't know how long. Then we dropped to a walk—we could run no more; and on we went. My strength and wind began to come back. I suppose my pursuer's did too; for exactly what I expected happened. He gave a yell and dashed for me. I was ready for him. I pretended to start running, and when he was within three yards of me I dropped on one knee, caught his ankles, and chucked him over my head. I don't know whether he broke his neck or not. I hope he did."
"Splendid!" said Victoire. "Splendid!"
"Well, there I was, outside Paris, and I'm
