"But how is it you are turning your back to La Logerie at this time of
night?"
"That's not surprising; I am going to Souday."
"Might I observe that you are not altogether on the road to Souday?"
"I know that; but I was afraid the road was guarded, so I have made a
circuit."
"In that case,--I mean if you are really going to Souday," said
Courtin,--"I think I ought to give you a bit of advice."
"Well, give it; sincere advice is always useful."
"Don't go; the cage is empty."
"Pooh!"
"Yes, I tell you, it is empty; there's no use in your going there,
Monsieur le baron, to find the bird who has sent you scouring the
country."
"Who told you that, Courtin?" said Michel, man[oe]uvring his horse so
as to keep his body well before Courtin, and thus mask Petit-Pierre
behind him.
"Who told me? Hang it! my eyes told me; I saw them all file out of the
courtyard, the devil take them! They marched right past me on the road
to Grandes-Landes."
"Were the soldiers in that direction?" asked the young baron.
Petit-Pierre thought this question rash, and she pinched Michel's arm.
"Soldiers!" replied Courtin; "why should you be afraid of soldiers?
But if you are, I advise you not to risk yourself at this time of
night on the plain. You can't go three miles without coming plump on
bayonets. Do a wiser thing than that, Monsieur Michel."
"What do you advise me to do? Come, if your way is better than mine,
I'll take it."
"Go back with me to La Logerie; you will give your mother great
satisfaction, for she is fretting herself to death over the way you
are behaving."
"Maître Courtin," said Michel, "I'll give you a bit of advice in
exchange."
"What's that, Monsieur le baron?"
"To hold your tongue."
"No, I cannot hold my tongue," replied the farmer, assuming an
appearance of sorrowful emotion,--"no, it grieves me too much to see
my young master exposed to such dangers, and all for--"
"Hush, Courtin!"
"For those cursed she-wolves whom the son of a peasant like myself
would have none of."
"Wretch! will you be silent?" cried Michel, raising his whip.
The action, which Courtin had no doubt tried to provoke, caused
Michel's horse to give a jump forward, and the mayor of La Logerie was
now abreast of the two riders.
"I am sorry if I've offended you, Monsieur le baron," he said, in a
whining tone. "Forgive me; but I haven't slept for two nights thinking
about it."
Petit-Pierre shuddered. She heard the same false and wheedling voice
that had spoken to her in the cottage of the Widow Picaut, followed,
after the speaker's departure, by such painful events. She made Michel
another sign, by which she meant, "Let us get rid of this man at any
cost."
"Very good," said Michel; "go your way and let _us_ go ours."
Courtin pretended to notice for the first time that Michel had some
one behind him.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Why, you are not alone! Ah! I see now,
Monsieur le baron, why you were so touchy about what I said. Well,
monsieur," he said, addressing Petit-Pierre, "whoever you are, I am
sure you will be more reasonable than your young friend. Join me in
telling him there is nothing to be gained by braving the laws and the
power of the government, as he is bent on doing to please those
wolves."
"Once more, Courtin," said Michel, in a tone that was actually
menacing, "I tell you to go. I act as I think best, and I consider you
very insolent to presume to judge of my conduct."
But Courtin, whose smooth persistency we all know by this time, seemed
determined not to depart without getting a look at the features of the
mysterious personage whom his young master had behind him.
"Come," he said; "to-morrow you can do as you like; but to-night, at
least, come and sleep at the farmhouse,--you and the person, lady or
gentleman, who is with you. I swear to you, Monsieur le baron, that
there is danger in being out to-night."
"There is no danger for myself and my companion, for we are not
concerned in politics. What are you doing to my saddle, Courtin?"
asked the young man suddenly, noticing a movement on his farmer's part
which he did not understand.
"Why, nothing, Monsieur Michel; nothing," said Courtin, with perfect
good-humor. "So then, you positively won't listen to my advice and
entreaties?"
"No; go your way, and let me go mine."
"Go, then!" exclaimed the farmer, in his sly, sarcastic tone; "and God
be with you. Remember that poor Courtin did what he could to prevent
you from rushing into danger."
So saying, Courtin finally drew aside, and Michel, setting spurs to
his horse, rode past him.
"Gallop! gallop!" cried Petit-Pierre. "That is the man who caused poor
Bonneville's death. Let us get on as fast as we can; that man has the
evil-eye."
The young baron stuck both spurs into his horse; but the animal had
hardly gone a dozen paces before the saddle turned, and both riders
came heavily to the ground. Petit-Pierre was up first.
"Are you hurt?" she asked Michel, who was getting up more slowly.
"No," he replied; "but I am wondering how--"
"How we came to fall? That's not the question. We did fall, and
there's the fact. Girth your horse again, and as fast as possible."
"_Aïe!_" cried Michel, who had already thrown the saddle over his
horse's back; "both girths are broken at precisely the same height."
"Say they are cut," said Petit-Pierre. "It is a trick of your infernal
Courtin; and it is a warning of worse--Wait, look over there."
Michel, whose arm Petit-Pierre had seized, looked in the direction to
which she pointed, and there, about a mile distant in the valley, he
saw three or four camp-fires shining in the darkness.
"It is a bivouac," said Petit-Pierre. "If that scoundrel suspects the
truth--and no doubt he does--he will make for the camp and set those
red-breeches on our traces."
"Ah! do you think that knowing I am with you, I, his master, he would
dare--"
"I must suppose everything, Monsieur Michel, and I must risk nothing."
"You are right; we must leave nothing to chance."
"Hadn't we better leave the beaten path?"
"I was thinking of that."
"How much time will it take to go on foot to the place where the
marquis is awaiting us?"
"An hour, at least; and we have no time to lose. But what shall we do
with the horse? He can't climb the banks as we must."
"Throw the bridle on his neck. He'll go back to his stable; and if our
friends meet the animal on the way, they'll know some accident has
happened and will come in search of us. Hush! hush!"
"What is it?"
"Don't you hear something?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"Yes; horses' feet in the direction of that bivouac."
"You see it was not without a motive that your farmer cut our
saddle-girths. Let us be off, my poor baron."
"But if we leave the horse here those who search for us will know the
riders are not far off."
"Stop!" said Petit-Pierre; "I have an idea, an Italian idea!--the
races of the _barberi_. Yes, that's the very thing. Do as I do,
Monsieur Michel."
"Go on; I obey."
Petit-Pierre set to work. With her delicate hands, and at the risk of
lacerating them, she broke off branches of thorn and holly from the
neighboring hedge. Michel did the same, and they presently had two
thick and prickly bundles of short sticks.
"What's to be done with them?" asked Michel.
"Tear the name off your handkerchief and give me the rest."
Michel obeyed. Petit-Pierre tore the handkerchief into two strips and
tied up the bunches. Then she fastened one to the mane, the other to
the tail of the horse. The poor animal, feeling the thorns like spurs
upon his flesh, began to rear and plunge. The young baron now began to
understand.
"Take off his bridle," said Petit-Pierre, "or he may break his neck;
and let him go."
The horse was hardly relieved of the saddle that held him before he
snorted, shook his mane and tail angrily, and darted away like a
tornado, leaving a trail of sparks behind him.
"Bravo!" cried Petit-Pierre. "Now, pick up the saddle and bridle, and
let us find shelter ourselves."
They jumped the hedge, Michel having thrown the saddle and bridle
before him. There they crouched down and listened. The gallop of the
horse still resounded on the stony road.
"Do you hear it?" said the baron, satisfied.
"Yes; but we are not the only ones who are listening to it, Monsieur
le baron," said Petit-Pierre. "Hear the echo."