"Does she want to die of hunger and cold?" said Delange to himself.
Filled with sorrow for the unhappy being, he went to the front and overtook his friends. MM. de Morin and Périères were still interchanging their mutual confessions. Miss Poles was sighing by the side of M. de Pommerelle, and M. de Guéran, carried in his hammock, was being borne on his way escorted by his wife and Dr. Desrioux.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
About five o'clock on the following morning, just as the caravan was about to get under way, Nassar came up to MM. de Morin and Delange.
"The Queen," said he, "has not gone back to her country. By dint of walking all night she has just overtaken us, and is hiding down below there, behind a rock."
"Poor woman!" M. Delange could not help saying.
"You pity her?" said M. de Morin.
"Certainly, I pity her," and, he added in a lower tone, "I pity her as one pities a faithful dog chased away by his master."
"You forget that this dog bit its master. It was not even content with biting, but sprang upon him open-mouthed."
"Yes, but now that its rage and anger, both inspired by jealousy, have passed away, the dog has repented, and returns with drooping ears to its master's dwelling. It seeks him, moaning and whining, fawns upon him, and refuses to be driven away. It will not bite him again, you may be quite sure."