In such a strait desperate ventures are best, and God protects those whom man pursues. We were congratulating ourselves on being out of danger, when all at once the horse struck against a stump, and catching his hoof in a root on the ground, fell down. Before we were up he had made off into the darkness, and I could hear him galloping farther and farther away. As we fell I had caught Edmée in my arms. She was unhurt. My own ankle, however, was sprained so severely that it was impossible for me to move a step. Edmée thought that my leg had been broken. I was inclined to think so myself, so great was the pain; but soon I thought no further either of my agony or my anxiety. Edmée’s tender solicitude made me forget everything. It was in vain that I urged her to continue her flight without me. I pointed out that she could now escape alone; that we were some distance from the château; that day would soon be breaking; that she would be certain to find some house, and that everywhere the people would protect her against the Mauprats.

“I will not leave you,” she persisted in answering. ‘You have devoted yourself to me; I will show the same devotion to you. We will both escape, or we will die together.”

“I am not mistaken,” I cried; “it is a light that I see between the branches. Edmée, there is a house yonder; go and knock at the door. You need not feel anxious about leaving me here; and you will find a guide to take you home.”

“Whatever happens,” she said, “I will not leave you; but I will try to find some one to help you.”

“Yet, no,” I said; “I will not let you knock at that door alone. That light, in the middle of the night, in a house situated in the heart of the woods, may be a lure.”

I dragged myself as far as the door. It felt cold, as if of metal. The walls were covered with ivy.

“Who is there?” cried some one within, before we had knocked.

“We are saved!” cried Edmée; “it is Patience’s voice.”

“We are lost!” I said; “he and I are mortal enemies.”

“Fear nothing,” she said; “follow me. It was God that led us here.”

“Yes, it was God that led you here, daughter of Heaven, morning star!” said Patience, opening the door; “and whoever is with you is welcome too at Gazeau Tower.”

We entered under a surbased vault, in the middle of which hung an iron lamp. By the light of this dismal luminary and of a handful of brushwood which was blazing on the hearth we saw, not without surprise, that Gazeau Tower was exceptionally honoured with visitors. On one side the light fell upon the pale and serious face of a man in clerical garb. On the other, a broad-brimmed hat overshadowed a sort of olive-green cone terminating in a scanty beard; and on the wall could be seen the shadow of a nose so distinctly tapered that nothing in the world might compare with it except, perhaps, a long rapier lying across the knees of the personage in question, and a little dog’s face which, from its pointed shape, might have been mistaken for that of a gigantic rat. In fact, it seemed as if a mysterious harmony reigned between these three salient points—the nose of Don Marcasse, his dog’s snout, and the blade of his sword. He got up slowly and raised his hand to his hat. The Jansenist curé did the same. The dog thrust its head forward between its master’s legs, and, silent like him, showed’ its teeth and put back its ears without barking.

“Quiet, Blaireau!” said Marcasse to it.

* The reputation which the Seigneur de Pleumartin has left behind him in the province will preserve the story of Mauprat from the reproach of exaggeration. Pen would refuse to trace the savage obscenities and refinements of cruelty which marked the life of this madman, and which perpetuated the traditions of feudal brigandage in Berry down to the last days of the ancient monarchy. His château was besieged, and after a stubborn resistance he was taken and hanged. There are many people still living, nor yet very advanced in years, vrho knew the man.

VII

No sooner had the curé recognised Edmée than he started back with an exclamation of surprise. But this was nothing to the stupefaction of Patience when he had examined my features by the light of the burning brand that served him as torch.

“The lamb in the company of the wolf!” he cried.