Meanwhile de Sigognac was struggling
fiercely and wildly under the heavy cloak that enveloped him--like a
gladiator entangled in his adversary's net--beside himself with rage and
despair, as he gasped for breath in his stifling prison, and
realized that this diabolical outrage must be the work of the Duke of
Vallombreuse. Suddenly, like an inspiration, the thought flashed into
his mind of using his dagger to free himself from the thick, clinging
folds, that weighed him down like the leaden cloaks of the wretched
condemned spirits we read of with a shudder in Dante's Inferno. With two
or three strong, quick strokes he succeeded in cutting through it, and
casting it from him, with a fierce imprecation, perceived Isabelle's
abductors, still near at hand, galloping across a neighbouring field,
and apparently making for a thick grove at a considerable distance from
where he was standing. As to the blind beggar and the child, they had
disappeared--probably hiding somewhere near by--but de Sigognac did
not waste a second thought on them; throwing off his own cloak, lest it
should impede him, he started swiftly in pursuit of the flying enemy and
their fair prize, with fury and despair in his heart. He was agile and
vigorous, lithe of frame, fleet of foot, the very figure for a runner,
and he quickly began to gain on the horsemen.
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