"Out of the way, there!" yelled a hoarse voice, amid cracking of a whip.
He did not hear, for his senses left him. He remained before the hoofs of the horses, drawing a postchaise up a side road between Vauclere and Thieblemont, which he had not perceived.
A scream pealed from inside the carriage, which the horses were whirling along like a feather on the gale. The postboy made a superhuman effort and managed to keep his horses from trampling on the boy, though one of the leaders gave him a kick.
"Good God!" screamed a woman again; "you have crushed the unhappy child."
The lady traveler got out, and the postillion alighted to lift Gilbert's body from under the wheel.
"What luck!" said the man; "dashed if he be hurted—only swooned."
"With fright, I suppose."
"I'll drag him to the roadside, and let us go on, since your ladyship is in hot haste."
"I cannot possibly leave this poor boy in such a plight. So young, poor little thing! It is some truant scholar undertaking a journey beyond his powers. How pale he is—he will die. No, no! I will not abandon him. Put him inside, on the front seat."
The postboy obeyed the lady, who had already got in the berlin, as were called such carriages. Gilbert was put on a good cushion with his back supported by the padded sides.