"Did he swoon?" cried Courtin, eagerly, seeing in that small detail the chance of escaping an immediate explanation.
"Yes, poor fellow! he is badly wounded, too."
"Good God!"
"Just think! for twenty-four hours, in his state, he has had no proper care! for my help has been powerless, I may say."
"Good heavens!"
"And think, too! he has been all day in the burning sun in the middle of the reeds; and to-night, in spite of my precautions, the fog has wet him through and through, and he has had a chill.
"Good Lord!"
"Ah! if evil happens to him I'll expiate my fault in penance all my life for having urged him into dangers for which he was unfit!" cried Bertha, whose political sentiments vanished before the loving anguish Michel's sufferings caused her.
As for Courtin, Bertha's assurance that Michel was not in a state to talk to him seemed to double the length of his legs. The girl no longer needed to hasten him on; he walked at his top speed, with a vigor he seldom showed, pulling the pony after him by the bridle, the beast being recalcitrant over the rough and heated road.
Believed for ever and aye of Jean Oullier, Courtin believed it would be easy to excuse himself to his young master,--in fact, that the matter would settle itself.