"Let him follow me."
The traveller stretched out his hand to the Vendéan leader, who shook
it cordially. Then he felt in his pocket, intending to divide the
contents of his purse between the guides; but the Vendéan gentleman
guessed his intention, and laying a hand on his arm, made him a sign
not to do a thing which would seem to the worthy peasants an insult.
Maître Marc understood the matter, and a friendly grasp of their hands
paid his debt to the peasants, as it had to their leader. After which,
Jean Oullier took the path by which he had come, saying two words,
with the brevity of an order and the tone of an invitation:--
"Follow me."
The traveller was beginning to get accustomed to these curt,
mysterious ways, hitherto unknown to him, which revealed if not actual
conspiracy, at least approaching insurrection. Shaded as the Vendéan
leader and the guides were by their broad hats, he had scarcely seen
their faces; and now in the darkness it was with difficulty that he
made out even the form of Jean Oullier, although the latter slackened
his pace, little by little, until he fell back almost to the
traveller's side. Maître Marc felt that his guide had something to say
to him, and he listened attentively. Presently he heard these words,
uttered like a murmur:--
"We are watched; a man is following us through the wood. Do not be
disturbed if you see me disappear. Wait for me at the place where you
lose sight of me."
The traveller answered by a simple motion of the head, which meant,
"Very good; as you say."
They walked on fifty steps farther. Suddenly Jean Oullier darted into
the wood. Thirty or forty feet in the depths of it a sound was heard
like that of a deer rising in affright. The noise went off in the
distance, as though it were indeed a deer that had made it. Jean
Oullier's steps were heard in the same direction. Then all sounds died
away.
The traveller leaned against an oak and waited. At the end of twenty
minutes a voice said beside him:--
"Now, we'll go on."
He quivered. The voice was really that of Jean Oullier, but the old
huntsman had come back so gently that not a single sound betrayed his
return.
"Well?" said the traveller.
"Lost time!" exclaimed Jean Oullier.
"No one there?"
"Some one; but the villain knows the wood as well as I do."
"So that you didn't overtake him?"
Oullier shook his head as though it cost him too much to put into
words that a man had escaped him.
"And you don't know who he was?"
"I suspect one man," said Jean Oullier, stretching his arm toward the
south; "but in any case he is an evil one." Then, as they reached the
edge of the woods, he added, "Here we are."
The traveller now saw the farmhouse of Banl[oe]uvre looming up before
him. Jean Oullier looked attentively to both sides of the road. The
road was clear; he crossed it alone. Then with a pass-key he opened
the gate.
"Come!" he said.
Maître Marc crossed the highway rapidly and disappeared through the
gate, which closed behind him. A white figure came out on the portico.
"Who's there?" asked a woman's voice, but a strong, imperative voice.
"I, Mademoiselle Bertha," responded Jean Oullier.
"You are not alone, my friend?"
"I have brought the gentleman from Paris who wishes to speak to
Petit-Pierre."
Bertha came down the steps and met the traveller.
"Come in, monsieur," she said.
And she led the way into a salon rather poorly furnished, though the
floor was admirably waxed and the curtains irreproachably clean. A
great fire was burning, and near the fire was a table on which a
supper was already served.
"Sit down, monsieur," said the young girl with perfect grace, which,
however, was not without a certain masculine tone which gave it much
originality. "You must be hungry and thirsty; pray eat and drink.
Petit-Pierre is asleep; but he gave orders to be waked if any one
arrived from Paris. You have just come from Paris, have you not?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"In ten minutes I will return."
And Bertha disappeared like a vision. The traveller remained a few
seconds motionless with amazement. He was an observer, and never had
he seen more grace and more charm mingled with strength of will than
in Bertha's demeanor. She might be, thought he, the young Achilles,
disguised as a woman, before he saw the blade of Ulysses. Absorbed in
this thought or in others allied to it, the traveller forgot to eat or
drink.
Bertha returned as she had promised.
"Petit-Pierre is ready to receive you, monsieur," she said.
The traveller rose; Bertha walked before him. She held in her hand a
short taper, which she raised to light the staircase, and which
lighted her own face at the same time. The traveller looked admiringly
at her beautiful black hair and her fine black eyes, her ivory skin,
with all its signs of youth and health, and the firm and easy poise of
the figure, which seemed to typify a goddess.
He murmured with a smile, remembering his Virgil,--that man who
himself is a smile of antiquity,--"Incessu patuit dea!"
The young girl rapped at the door of a bedroom.
"Come in," replied a woman's voice.
The door opened. The young girl bowed slightly and allowed the
traveller to pass her. It was easy to see that humility was not her
leading virtue.
The traveller then passed in. The door closed behind him, and Bertha
remained outside.