"I'll go forward now, so that you may not have to wait."
"One moment," said Henri. "Where are we going?"
"To the château de Souday."
"The château de Souday!"
"Yes; you know it very well, with its pointed towers roofed with
slate, on the left of the road opposite to the forest of Machecoul."
"The wolves' castle?"
"Yes, the wolves' castle, if you choose to call it so."
"Is that where we are to stay?"
"Yes."
"Have you sufficiently reflected, Michel?"
"Yes, yes; I will answer for everything."
The baron waited to say no more, but set off instantly for the castle,
with that velocity of which he had given such unmistakable proof on
the night when he went to fetch the doctor to the dying Tinguy.
"Well," asked Petit-Pierre, "what shall we do?"
"There is no choice now but to follow him."
"To the wolves' castle?"
"Yes, to the wolves' castle."
"So be it; but to enliven the way," said the little peasant, "will you
be good enough to tell me, my dear Rameau-d'or, who the wolves are?"
[Illustration: Castle Souday.]
"I will tell you what I have heard of them."
"I can't expect more."
Resting his hand on the pommel of the saddle, the Comte de Bonneville
related to Petit-Pierre the sort of legend attaching, throughout the
department of the Lower Loire, to the daughters of the Marquis de
Souday. But presently, stopping short in his tale, he announced to his
companion that they had reached their destination.
Petit-Pierre, convinced that he was about to see beings analogous to
the witches in "Macbeth," was calling up all his courage to enter the
dreaded castle, when, at a turn of the road, he saw before him an open
gate, and before the gate two white figures, who seemed to be waiting
there, lighted by a torch carried behind them by a man of rugged
features and rustic clothes. Mary and Bertha--for it was
they--informed by Baron Michel, had come to meet their uninvited
guests. Petit-Pierre eyed them curiously. He saw two charming young
girls,--one fair, with blue eyes and an almost angelic face; the
other, with black hair and eyes, a proud and resolute bearing, a frank
and loyal countenance. Both were smiling.
Rameau-d'or's young companion slid from his horse, and the two
advanced together toward the ladies.
"My friend Baron Michel encouraged me to hope, mesdemoiselles, that
your father, the Marquis de Souday, would grant us hospitality," said
the Comte de Bonneville, bowing to the two girls.
"My father is absent, monsieur," replied Bertha. "He will regret
having lost this occasion to exercise a virtue which in these days we
cannot often practise."
"I do not know if Michel told you, mademoiselle, that this hospitality
may possibly involve some danger. My young companion and I are almost
proscribed persons. Persecution may be the cost of your granting us an
asylum."
"You come here in the name of a cause which is ours, monsieur. Were
you merely strangers, you would be hospitably received. Being, as you
are, royalists and proscribed, you are heartily welcome, even if death
and ruin enter this poor household with you. If my father were here he
would say the same."
"Monsieur le Baron Michel has, no doubt, told you my name; it remains
for me to tell you that of my young companion."
"We do not ask to know it, monsieur; your situation is more to us than
your names, whatever they may be. You are royalists, proscribed for a
cause to which, women as we are, we would gladly give every drop of
our blood. Enter this house; it is neither rich nor sumptuous, but at
least you will find it faithful and discreet."
With a gesture of great dignity, Bertha pointed to the gate, and
signed to the two young men to enter it.
"May Saint-Julien be ever blessed!" said Petit-Pierre in Bonneville's
ear. "Here is the château and the cottage between which you wanted me
to choose, united in this night's lodging. They please me through and
through, your wolves."
So saying, he entered the postern, with a graceful inclination of the
head to the two young girls. The Comte de Bonneville followed. Mary
and Bertha made an amicable gesture of farewell to Michel, and the
latter held out her hand to him. But Jean Oullier closed the gate so
roughly that the luckless young man had no time to grasp it.
He looked for a few moments at the towers of the castle, which stood
out blackly against the dark background of the sky. He watched the
lights appearing, one by one, in the windows; and then, at last, he
turned and went away.
When he had fairly disappeared the bushes moved, and gave passage to
an individual who had witnessed this scene, with a purpose very
different from that of the actors in it. That individual was Courtin,
who, after satisfying himself that no one was near, took the same path
his young master had taken to return to La Logerie.