"You are mistaken," said Delange, abruptly. "We are travelling with the Baroness de Guéran, your wife."
"My wife! my wife here!" stammered the Baron. "It is impossible— impossible."
"I give you my word," interrupted Delange, "that I have spoken the truth."
"The truth! the truth! She is there—my wife is there!" said M, de Guéran, over and over again, as if he were stupefied or had lost his head completely.
"Yes," continued Delange, "Madame de Guéran is not more than three hundred yards from you, at the foot of that mountain, in the midst of that army yonder."
"How could she have travelled so far? How has she had the courage—I do not understand, I—"
He stopped, his emotion overcoming him. The doctor came to his rescue.
"She arranged," said he, "an expedition of which I and my friends have the honour to be members, and this expedition has been searching for you during the last fourteen months."
Suddenly M. de Guéran, who had been leaning on the doctor's shoulder to prevent himself falling, drew himself up, and exclaimed—
"I must see her! I must see her! Let them kill me—what do I care? I must see her, I tell you! Come! Come!"