It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening when Petit-Pierre,
accompanied by Baron Michel, now her guide in place of poor
Bonneville, left the cottage where she had escaped such dangers.
It was not, as we can readily believe, without a deep and painful
emotion that Petit-Pierre crossed that threshold and left the cold,
inanimate body of the chivalrous young man, whom she had known for a
few days only, but already loved as an old and trusted friend. That
valiant heart of hers had a momentary sense of weakness at the thought
of meeting alone the perils that for four or five days poor Bonneville
had shared with her. The royal cause had only lost one soldier, yet
Petit-Pierre felt as though an army was gone.
It was the first grain of the bloody seed about to be sown once more
in the soil of La Vendée; and Petit-Pierre asked herself in anguish
if, indeed, nothing would come of it but regret and mourning.
Petit-Pierre did not insult Marianne Picaut by charging her to take
good care of the body of poor Bonneville. Strange as the ideas of that
woman may have seemed to her, she understood the nobility of her
feelings, and recognized all that was truly good and profoundly
religious beneath her rough exterior. When Michel brought his horse to
the door and reminded Petit-Pierre that every moment was precious, the
latter turned to the widow of Pascal Picaut, and holding out her hand,
said:
"How can I thank you for all you have done for me?"
"I have done nothing for you," replied Marianne; "I have paid a
debt,--fulfilled an oath, that is all."
"Then," said Petit-Pierre, with tears in her eyes, "you will not even
accept my gratitude?"
"If you are determined to owe me something," said the widow, "do this:
when you pray for those who are dead add to your prayers a few words
for those who have died because of you."
"Then you think I have some credit with God?" said Petit-Pierre,
unable to keep from smiling through her tears.
"Yes; because I know that you are destined to suffer."
"At least, you will accept this," said Petit-Pierre, unfastening from
her throat a little medal hanging to a slender black silk cord. "It is
only silver, but the Holy Father blessed it in my presence, and said
when he gave it to me that God would grant the prayers uttered over
it, if they were just and pious."