midnight
Soaked to the skin , my clothes hanging sodden about me , and chilled to the marrow though I was , I set my chattering teeth , and swore that we should not sleep until we reached Toulouse . `` My God , '' he groaned , `` and we but halfway ! '' `` Forward ! '' was all I answered ; and so as midnight chimed we left Fenouillet behind us , and dashed on into the open country and the full fury of the tempest . My servants came after me upon their stumbling horses , whining and cursing by turns , and forgetting in their misery the respect that they were accustomed to pay me . I think now that it was a providence that guided me . Had I halted at Fenouillet , as they would have had me do , it is odds that this chronicle would never have been penned , for likely enough I had had my throat cut as I slept .