The Last Vendée; or, the She-Wolves of Machecoul. Alexandre Dumas
body."
Rameau-d'or raised his hat and stood aside to let his young companion pass.
The lad, like Rameau-d'or, entered the cottage, took a branch of holly, dipped it in holy water, and sprinkled the body with it. Then he knelt down and prayed at the foot of the bed, after which he left the cottage, without exciting more attention than his companion had done.
The elder helped Petit-Pierre to mount, and together, one in the saddle, the other on foot, they took their way silently across the fields and along an almost invisible path which led, as we have said, in a straight line to the château de la Logerie. They had hardly gone a hundred steps into the grounds when Rameau-d'or stopped short and laid his hand on the bridle of the horse.
"What is it now?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"I hear steps," said the young man. "Draw in behind those bushes; I will stand against this tree. They'll probably pass without seeing us."
The man[oe]uvre was made with the rapidity of a military evolution, and none too soon; for the new-comer was seen to emerge from the darkness as the pair reached their posts. Rameau-d'or, whose eyes were by this time accustomed to the dim light, saw at once that he was a young man about twenty years of age, running, rather than walking, in the same direction as themselves. He had his hat in his hand, which made him the more easily recognized, and his hair, blown back by the wind, left his face entirely exposed.
An exclamation of surprise burst from Rameau-d'or, as the young man came close to him; then he hesitated a minute, still in doubt, and allowed the other to pass him by three or four steps, before he cried out:--
"Michel!"
The new-comer, who did not expect to hear his name called in that lonely place, jumped to one side, and said in a voice that quivered with emotion:--
"Who called me?"
"I," said Rameau-d'or, taking off his hat and a wig he had been wearing, and advancing to his friend with no other disguise than his Breton clothes.
"Henri de Bonneville!" exclaimed Baron Michel, in amazement.
"Myself. But don't say my name so loud. We are in a land where every bush and ditch and tree shares with the walls the privilege of having ears."
"True!" said Michel, alarmed; "and besides--"
"Besides what?" asked M. de Bonneville.
"You must have come for the uprising they talk of?"
"Precisely. And now, in two words, on which side are you?"
"I?"
"Yes, you."
"My good friend," said the young baron, "I have no fixed opinions; though I will admit in a whisper--"
"Whisper as much as you like; admit what? Make haste."
"Well, I will admit that I incline toward Henri V."
"My dear Michel," cried the count, gayly, "if you incline toward Henri V. that is enough for me."
"Stop; I don't say that I am positively decided."
"So much the better. I shall finish your conversion; and, in order that I may do so at once, I shall ask you to take me in for the night at your château, and also a friend who accompanies me."
"Where is your friend?" asked Michel.
"Here he is," said Petit-Pierre, riding forward, and bowing to the young baron, with an ease and grace that contrasted curiously with the dress he wore. Michel looked at the little peasant for a moment, and then approaching Bonneville, he said:--
"Henri, what is your friend's name?"
"Michel, you are lacking in all the traditions of hospitality. You forget the 'Odyssey,' my dear fellow, and I am distressed at you. Why do you want to know my friend's name? Isn't it enough if I tell you he is a man of good birth?"
"Are you sure he is a man at all?"
The count and Petit-Pierre burst out laughing.
"So you insist on knowing the names of those you receive in your house?"
"Not for my sake, my dear Henri,--not for mine, I swear to you; but in the château de la Logerie--"
"Well?--in the château de la Logerie?"
"I am not master."
"Oh! then the Baronne Michel is mistress. I had already told my little friend Petit-Pierre that she might be. But it is only for one night. You could take us to your own room, and I can forage in the cellar and larder. I know the way. My young friend could get a night's rest on your bed, and early in the morning I'll find a better place and relieve you of our presence."
"Impossible, Henri. Do not think that it is for myself, I fear; but it will compromise your safety to let you even enter the château."
"How so?"
"My mother is still awake; I am sure of it. She is watching for me; she would see us enter. Your disguise we might find some reason for; but that of your companion, which has not escaped me, how could we explain it to her?"
"He is right," said Petit-Pierre.
"But what else can we do?"
"And," continued Michel, "it is not only my mother that I fear, but--"
"What else?"
"Wait!" said the baron, looking uneasily about him; "let us get away from these bushes."
"The devil!"
"I mean Courtin."
"Courtin? Who is he?"
"Don't you remember Courtin the farmer?"
"Oh! yes, to be sure,--a good sort of fellow, who was always on your side, even against your mother."
"Yes. Well, Courtin is now mayor of the village and a violent Philippist. If he found you wandering about, at night in disguise he would arrest you without a warrant."
"This is serious," said Henri de Bonneville, gravely. "What does Petit-Pierre think of it?"
"I think nothing, my dear Rameau-d'or; I leave you to think for me."
"The result is that you close your doors to us?" said Bonneville.
"That won't signify to you," said Baron Michel, whose eyes suddenly lighted up with a personal hope,--"it won't signify, for I will get you admitted to another house, where you will be in far greater safety than at La Logerie."
"Not signify! but it does signify. What says my companion?"
"I say that provided some door opens, I don't care where it is. I am ready to drop with fatigue, I am so tired."
"Then follow me," said the baron.
"Is it far?"
"An hour's walk,--about three miles."
"Has Petit-Pierre the strength for it?" asked Henri.
"Petit-Pierre will find strength for it," said the little peasant, laughing.
"Then let us follow Baron Michel," said Bonneville. "Forward, baron!"
And the little group, which had been at a standstill for the last ten minutes, moved away. But they had hardly gone a few hundred steps before Bonneville laid a hand on Michel's shoulder.
"Where are you taking us?" he said.
"Don't be uneasy."
"I will follow you, provided you can promise me a good bed and a good supper for Petit-Pierre, who, as you see, is rather delicate."
"He shall have all and more than I could give him at La Logerie,--the best food in the larder, the best wine in the cellar, the best bed in the castle."
On they went. At the end of some little time Michel said suddenly:--