From a feeling that was purely chivalrous, Monsieur de Souday had not been willing to leave the country so long as Petit-Pierre was in it, and in danger. Therefore, when Bertha came to him with the news of the duchess's probable departure, the old Vendéan gentleman resigned himself, though without heartiness, to follow the advice of General Dermoncourt and depart for the third time to foreign lands.
He and his daughter left the forest of Touvois at once. Maître Jacques, whose hand was now nearly well, though it lacked two fingers, wished to accompany them to the coast and assist in their embarkation.
It was midnight when the three travellers, following the high-road from Machecoul, reached the heights above the valley of Souday. As the marquis looked at the four weathercocks on his four towers, which were shimmering in the moonlight above the sea of verdure which surrounded them, he sighed. Bertha heard him and came nearer to his side.
"What is it, father?" she said. "What are you thinking of?"
"Of many things, my poor child," he answered, shaking his head.
"Don't take gloomy thoughts into your head, father. You are still young and vigorous; you'll see the house again some day."
"Yes," said the marquis, with another sigh, "but--" he stopped, half choking.
"But what?" asked Bertha.
"I shall never see my poor Jean Oullier again."
"Alas!" said the girl.