"Thank you. On this medal I will pray to God that our land be saved
from civil war, and that He will ever preserve its grandeur and its
liberty."
"Right!" said Petit-Pierre; "the last half of your prayer will be
echoed in mine."
Aided by Michel, she mounted the horse which the young man led by the
bridle, and with a last signal of farewell to the widow, they both
disappeared behind the hedge.
For some minutes Petit-Pierre, whose head was bowed on her breast,
swayed to the motions of the horse and seemed to be buried in deep and
painful reflections. At last, however, she made an effort over
herself, and shaking off the grief that overcame her, she turned to
Michel, who was walking beside her.
"Monsieur," she said, "I already know two things which entitle you to
my confidence: first, that we owed the warning that troops were
surrounding the château de Souday to you; second, that you have come
to me to-day in the name of the marquis and his charming daughters.
But there is still a third thing, about which I should like to know,
and that is, who you are. My friends are rare under present
circumstances, and I like to know their names that I may promise not
to forget them."
"I am called Baron Michel de la Logerie," replied the young man.
"De la Logerie! Surely this is not the first time I have heard that
name?"
"Very likely not, Madame," said the young man; "for our poor
Bonneville told me he was taking your Highness to my mother--"
"Stop, stop! what are you saying? _Your Highness!_ There is no
highness here; I see only a poor little peasant-lad named
Petit-Pierre."
"Ah, true; but Madame will excuse--"
"What! again?"
"Pardon me. Our poor Bonneville was taking you to my mother when I had
the honor of meeting and conducting you to Souday."
"So that I am under a triple obligation to you. That does not disquiet
me; for, great as your services have been, I hope the time will come
when I can discharge my debt."
Michel stammered a few words, which did not reach the ears of his
companion. But the latter's words seemed to have made an impression on
him; for from that moment, while obeying the injunction to refrain
from a certain deference, he redoubled his care and attention to the
personage he was guiding.
"But it seems to me," said Petit-Pierre, after a moment's thought,
"from what Monsieur de Bonneville told me, that royalist opinions are
not altogether those of your family."
"No, they are not, Ma--mon--"
"Call me Petit-Pierre, or do not call me anything; that is the only
way to avoid embarrassment. So it is to a conversion that I owe the
honor of having you for my knight?"
"An easy conversion! At my age opinions are not convictions; they are
only sentiments."
"You are indeed very young," said Petit-Pierre, looking at her guide.
"I am nearly twenty-one."
Petit-Pierre gave a sigh.
"That is the fine age," she said, "for love or war."
The young man heaved a deep sigh, and Petit-Pierre, who heard it,
smiled imperceptibly.
"Ah!" she said; "there's a sigh which tells me many things about the
conversion we were speaking of just now. I will wager that a pretty
pair of eyes knows something about it, and that if the soldiers of
Louis-Philippe were to search you at this moment they would find a
scarf that is dearer to you for the hands that embroidered it than for
the principles of which its color is the emblem."
"I assure you, Madame," stammered Michel, "that is not the cause of my
determination."
"Come, come, don't defend yourself; all that is true chivalry,
Monsieur Michel. We must never forget, whether we descend from them or
whether we seek to emulate them, that the knights of old placed women
next to God and on the level of kings, combining all three in one
device. Do not be ashamed of loving! Why, that is your greatest claim
to my sympathy! _Ventre-saint-gris!_ as Henri IV. would have said;
with an army of twenty thousand lovers I could conquer not only all
France, but the world! Come, tell me the name of your lady, Monsieur
le Baron de la Logerie."
"Oh!" exclaimed Michel, deeply shocked.
"Ah! I see you are discreet, young man. I congratulate you; it is a
quality all the more precious because in these days it is so rare. But
never mind; to a travelling-companion we tell all, charging him to
keep our secret inviolably. Come, shall I help you? I will wager that
we are now going toward the lady of our thoughts."
"You are right there."
"And I will further wager that she is neither more nor less than one
of those charming amazons at Souday."
"Good heavens! who could have told you?"
"Well, I congratulate you again, my young friend. Wolves as I am told
some persons call them, I know they have brave and noble hearts,
capable of bestowing happiness on the husbands they select. Are you
rich, Monsieur de la Logerie?"
"Alas, yes!" replied Michel.
"So much the better, and not alas at all! You can enrich your wife,
and that seems to me a great happiness. In all cases, in all loves,
there are certain little difficulties to overcome, and if Petit-Pierre
can help you at any time you have only to call upon him; he will be
most happy to recognize in that way the services you have been good
enough to render him. But, if I'm not mistaken, here comes some one
toward us. Listen; don't you hear a tread?"
The steps of a man now became distinctly audible. They were still at
some distance, but were coming nearer.
"I think the man is alone," said Petit-Pierre.
"Yes; but we must not be the less on our guard," replied the baron. "I
shall ask your permission to mount that horse in front of you."
"Willingly; but are you already tired?"
"No, not at all. Only, I am well known in the neighborhood, and if I
were seen on foot leading a horse on which a peasant was riding, as
Haman led Mordecai, it might give rise to a good deal of speculation."
"Bravo! what you say is very true. I begin to think we shall make
something of you in the end."
Petit-Pierre jumped to the ground. Michel mounted; and Petit-Pierre
placed herself humbly behind him. They were hardly settled in their
seats before they came within thirty yards of an individual who was
walking in their direction, and whose steps now ceased abruptly.
"Oh! oh!" said Petit-Pierre; "it seems that if we are afraid of him,
he is afraid of us."
"Who's there?" called Michel, making his voice gruff.
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur le baron?" replied the man, advancing. "The
devil take me if I expected to meet you here at this hour!"
"You told the truth when you said that you were well known," whispered
Petit-Pierre, laughing.
"Yes, unfortunately," said Michel, in a tone which warned Petit-Pierre
they were in presence of a real danger.
"Who is this man?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"Courtin, my farmer,--the one we suspect of denouncing your presence
at Marianne Picaut's." Then he added, in a vehement and imperative
tone, which made his companion aware of the urgency of the situation,
"Hide behind me as much as possible."
Petit-Pierre immediately obeyed.
"Oh! it is you Courtin, is it?" said Michel.
"Yes, it is I," replied the farmer.
"Where do you come from?" asked Michel.
"From Machecoul; I went there to buy an ox."
"Where is your ox? I don't see it."
"No, I couldn't make a trade. These damned politics hinder business,
and there's nothing now in the market," said Courtin, who was
carefully examining, as well as he could in the darkness, the horse on
which the young baron was mounted.