The rider grew nearer and nearer, and in a few moments turned up the road leading to the back of the house. The steps of the tired brute became slower as he trotted up the avenue, although the sound of a cudgel on his ribs were plainly audible. Henri and de Lescure were standing under the garden wall, and as the animal drew near them, they saw it was a jaded donkey, ridden by a peasant girl.
“Fly, for the sake of God!” said the girl, even before she dismounted from the donkey; “fly for the sake of the blessed Virgin. Take the ladies from the château, or they will be burnt—be burnt—be burnt!”
As she screamed the last words she slipped from the donkey, and almost fainted with the exertion she had undergone. She was the daughter of one of M. de Lescure’s servants, and had been sent from Clisson into service at the château, from whence Westerman started on his expedition. When the republicans made their appearance there, she had fled with the other servants, but she had hung about the house, and about an hour and a half before Westerman left the place she learnt, through some of the soldiers, his intention of attacking Clisson that night.
“Who is coming to burn us, Marian?” said de Lescure, endeavouring by his own assumed coolness to enable her to collect her thoughts and power of speech.
“The blues—the blues!” screamed the girl. “They had all but overtaken me when I got to the short cut through the wood. There they are, there they are,” and the noise of the advancing troop was distinctly audible through the stillness of the night.
The poor girl was quite exhausted, and fell to the ground fainting. De Lescure and Henri had both stood still for a moment, after having been made to comprehend that an immediate attack was about to be made on the château, but it was only for a moment.
“We must carry them through the wood, Charles,” said Henri, whispering. “It is our only chance.”
“True—true,” said de Lescure. “Turn the oxen, Francois, turn them back through the yard into the farm-road, and then keep to the left into the wood. We will meet you at the seven limes.”
“Take Victorine out through the garden,” said Henri to his cousin, who was now hurrying into the house, “and through the iron gate. I saw the other day that the key was in it, and we can turn it. I tried it myself. I will bring Marie after you.”
Henri stayed a moment to assist in turning the cumbrous waggon, and ran back to open the farm gates.