“That I cannot altogether tell. I half doubt M. Dupont’s words, though he acts the distracted lover, he who has seen me but two or three times.”
Papa Louis shook his head. “It will be for Michelle to unravel it. She is very acute, is my Michelle, and though she has not the learning from books, she has a penetration unexcelled. She is distracted, the poor one; she one moment thinks you destroyed by wolves, the next drowned in the waters of the sound, and again she declares you have been carried away by savages. She has not slept, neither has she eaten a mouthful. As for the neighbors, they have sent out search-parties in all directions. The news of your return must be given and the signal-fire lighted.”
And, indeed, there was a great running to doors and windows and a great bustle in the street when the little procession wended its way through the village. Mère Michelle, weeping, fell on Alaine’s neck. “She that was lost is found! Helas! my Alainette, how I have grieved for thee! On my knees all night, save when I watched from the window, prying into the darkness for a torch-light which might tell of your safe return.” But here the good woman’s attention was distracted by the sight of the two patients. Gerard and Pierre bore the unconscious François into the house and laid him on one of the beds, and Papa Louis assisted Lendert with much show of concern. Lendert protested, but was made to occupy the other bed, and this strange situation brought a grim smile to Pierre’s lips.
Michelle, running from one to the other, directing, exclaiming, rejoicing, grieving, had her hands full. “Heat me a kettle of water, Louis. Ah, mon cœur, but he is badly hurt, this wicked one. Thank heaven! you escaped, my Alaine. Yet see your best silk gown, a rag, a fringe, and your buckles gone from your shoes, which are fit only for burning, so skinned and torn are they, and where will you get another pair? Alas! you come back poorer than you went. A stoup of wine, Gerard, for this gentleman grows faint. He is of good stuff, for he has not flinched, and his shoulder must be very painful. Steep the bandages well, Gerard. Art better, monsieur? There, I think we must keep you very quiet. The other is of no weight. I could lift him myself, but he is the color of wax. He is not fit to die, the miserable, and we must save him for God knows what, yet we cannot let even an enemy go directly to burn in hell, as he surely would.”
The eyes of the sufferer opened slowly; they caught sight of Alaine. “Whither thou goest,” the white lips murmured, and Alaine, bravely as she had endured everything else, now burst into tears, and sobbed inconsolably upon Papa Louis’s shoulder.
CHAPTER VII
WHITHER THOU GOEST
“Did I not say that I was not to be shaken off?” were the first words that greeted Alaine as she passed by the bed of François Dupont the next morning. “A charming situation, this; I could not have played my cards better. For what else but this sorry wound could have made me an inmate of your household? I am here—pouf! and you cannot move me or I die. I am lucky, by St. Michael.” The triumphant look in his eyes for an instant made Alaine pause, a retort upon her lips, but she passed on without a word. “Water! A draught of water; I am so parched!” cried François.
Alaine looked around. Mère Michelle was preparing a broth and was giving all her attention to it. Gerard and Papa Louis were not within-doors.
“A cup of water, Alaine,” said Michelle, without taking her eyes from the bubbling mess over which she stood. “Give him a fresh drink from the well. I am at a most critical point with this, and I dare not leave. Hasten back, for my hands are full. We shall have help later in the day.”
Silently Alaine took her cup to the well, in her heart protesting at having to do this service. “A wicked girl am I who am not willing to obey my Bible, which says, ‘If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.’ Helpless though he be, I still fear M. Dupont. I could, an’ it were not wicked, I could wish he were never to leave his bed.” She caught sight of Pierre across the street, and she called, “Pierre, Pierre!”