In the meantime one of the Companions had carried Edouard’s mother to the bank by the roadside a little distance from the diligence. The man who had kissed Edouard with so much affection and persistence now looked around for her.
“Ah!” cried he, on perceiving her, “Madame de Montrevel still unconscious? We can’t leave a woman in that condition, gentlemen. Conductor, take Master Edouard.” Placing the boy in Jérôme’s arms, he turned to one of his companions: “Man of precautions,” said he, “haven’t you smelling salts or a bottle of essence with you?”
“Here!” said the young man he had addressed, pulling a flask of toilet vinegar from his pocket.
“Good,” said the other, who seemed to be the leader of the band. “Do you finish up the matter with Master Jérôme; I’ll take charge of Madame de Montrevel.”
It was indeed time. The fainting fit was giving place to a violent nervous attack; spasmodic movements shook her whole body and strangled cries came from her throat. The young man leaned over her and made her inhale the salts.
Madame de Montrevel presently opened her frightened eyes, and called out: “Edouard! Edouard!” With an involuntary movement she knocked aside the mask of the man who was supporting her, exposing his face.
The courteous, laughing young man—our readers have already recognized him—was Morgan.
Madame de Montrevel paused in amazement at sight of those beautiful blue eyes, the lofty brow, and the gracious lips smiling at her. She realized that she ran no danger from such a man, and that no harm could have befallen Edouard. Treating Morgan as a gentleman who had succored her, and not as a bandit who had caused her fainting-fit, she exclaimed: “Ah, sir! how kind you are.”
In the words, in the tones in which she uttered them, there lay a world of thanks, not only for herself, but for her child.
With singular delicacy, entirely in keeping with his chivalric nature, Morgan, instead of picking up his fallen mask and covering his face immediately, so that Madame de Montrevel could only have retained a fleeting and confused impression of it—Morgan replied to her compliment by a low bow, leaving his features uncovered long enough to produce their impression; then, placing d’Assas’ flask in Madame de Montrevel’s hand—and then only—he replaced his mask. Madame de Montrevel understood the young man’s delicacy.