As the path curved outward to the right, and the forward view was no longer obscured by the higher ground that faced the Sanglea on its southern side, Marshal Couppier saw the blue light on St. Angelo’s tower signalling that his message had been received, and, almost at once, there was an outbreak of heavy fire from the batteries of the Sanglea, and such parts of St. Angelo’s defences as would tend to draw the attention of the Turks from the road by which he was expected to come. Then there was the sound of horse-hooves ahead, and a single rider, who appeared to have been stationary on their path, galloped away.
“You are sure,” Francisco heard the Marshal’s voice at his side, “that this is the way?”
It was a moment when he had his own anxiety, for he knew, if he were on the right road, t
