He forced a passage through brambles, broke down palings, thrice caught his feet in wire work which he had not seen, and fell among nettles, yet picked himself up went on again, spurred by the stinging of his hands and face.

It was then Guillaume and Pierre saw him pass, unrecognisable and frightful, taking to the muddy water of the rivulet like a stag which seeks to set a last obstacle between itself and the hounds.

There came to him a wild idea of getting to the lake, and swimming, unperceived, to the island in the centre of it.

That, he madly thought, would be a safe retreat, where he might burrow and hide himself without possibility of discovery.

And so he still ran on.