Ma supplication présente
J’offre et présente.”
Nearer and nearer came the voice, and with all her heart in her singing Alaine continued, but before she had finished the third stanza the song ended suddenly, and her glad cry was, “Pierre! Here, Pierre, mon ami! Praise to the good God, thou art come!” Then from the greenwood strode Pierre Boutillier, who stopped in amazement at the sight of Alaine standing guard over a prostrate man, while the form of François Dupont retreated down the path into the forest beyond.
“Pierre, Pierre, hasten! I dare not move. Secure yonder man.” Alaine’s trembling finger pointed to François.
Pierre rushed forward. François raised his pistol and half turned in his flight, but before he was able to fire he stumbled and fell forward on his face.
“God have mercy!” cried Alaine. “Pierre, have you killed him?”
He stooped and turned over the body of the man at his feet. “No, he lives. It was his own pistol gave the hurt; it went off as his foot struck the root of this tree where he fell.”
“God have mercy!” again whispered Alaine. “Then, Pierre, we have two of them wounded. And how did you find me? And is this not a terrible thing, all this? Have you some spirits? Monsieur Verplanck has fainted. Is it not strange that I am not dead? I thought my last hour had come. And you, Pierre, you are not hurt?”
He assured her that he was untouched, and then busied himself in ministering to Lendert while Alaine poured forth her story.
“We have been scouring the woods,” Pierre told her, “and I took this direction, and when I heard your voice I knew the good God had put my feet upon the right path. Gerard is not far away. I think I can summon him. We were to meet at the end of this path when the sun was noon high. There, your friend is recovering; he opens his eyes.”