Karasch came up then with his horse and mine, and in a moment I was in the saddle dashing in hot haste up the winding street.
CHAPTER XI.
TO SAMAC.
Many of the village folk were still lounging in the street and the clatter of the horses’ heels brought out more to gape and stare in wonderment as we clattered past. We were nearing the end of the place when I caught sight of a church with a mean-looking presbytery by the side.
I checked my horse, rode to it, and asked for Father Michel. A tall white-haired priest came out; kind-faced, with remarkable eyes almost black, under black brows. A man to trust certainly.
“You are Father Michel?”
For answer he turned his searching eyes upon me, paused and said: “You will be Burgwan?”
“Yes. And you know why I come.”
“On the contrary, I was in the act of coming to you.”
“Is she here?” I did not know how to speak of Mademoiselle; but he understood instantly. He patted my horse’s neck and looked up with sympathy in his manner and glance.
“You will let me speak with you?”