I was up (or rather down) early; washed in the brook; breakfasted fastidiously off beech-nuts. Then, quite undecided as to my course of action, I loitered awhile amongst the trees, and finally came round by the hill once more, and dwelt upon a thought to climb it and investigate. But, as I stood in uncertainty, a shrill cry came to my ears. It rang startlingly in that voiceless pit of green, and I hurried at my topmost speed round the base of the mound, and came suddenly upon a sight that met me like a blow.
Two savages, each with an arm of the girl brutally seized, were shouldering the poor swineherd towards the trees. She cried and struggled, disputing every step; the pigs streamed curiously in the wake of the group. There was an obvious ugly inference to be drawn from the sight, and I made no compromise with my discretion. I just rushed through the herd and charged straight at one of the ruffians.
He was aware of me—they both were—before I reached him. They twisted their heads about, and the one I made for dropped his hold of Carinne and jumped to meet my onset, while the other hooted “O-he! bran de lui!” and tightened his grip of the girl. I saw only that my assailant was a powerful coarse bonnet-rouge, little-eyed, hairy as Attila. The next instant I had dived, caught one of his ankles, and given his furious impetus an upward direction. He went over me in a parabola, like a ball sprung from a trap, and I heard his ribs thud on the ground. But I had no time to give him my further attention, for, seeing his comrade’s discomfiture, the second rascal came at me.
And now I was like to pay dearly for my temerity, for, though I was lithe and active enough, I had not that of substance on my bones to withstand the pounding of a couple of enraged and sanguinary giants. The poor Carinne had sunk, for the moment unnerved, upon the ground. I prayed God she had a knife to use on herself for a last resource. No doubt the ruffian I had thrown would take me in the rear in a moment. The other was bearing down upon me like a bullock. Suddenly, when come almost within my reach, he jerked himself to so quick a halt that his heels cut grooves in the mast. I saw his eyes dilate and glare beyond me, and on the instant a single vibrant scream, like the shrill neigh of a horse, rose from the ground at my back. It was the cue for an immediate quarrelling clamour, fierce and gluttonous, such as one hears when a bucket of wash is emptied into a sty; and if it was lifted again, bodiless and inhuman, it might not reach through the uproar.
I had turned to look—and away again in infinite horror. Upon the half-stunned wretch, as he lay prostrate on his back, an old ravening boar of the herd had flung itself in fury, and with one bestial clinch of its teeth and jerk of its powerful neck had torn out the very apple of the man’s throat. And there atop of his victim the huge brute sprawled, tossing its head and squeaking furiously; while the rest of the herd, smitten with the beast-lust, ran hither and thither, approaching, snuffing, retreating, and, through all, never ceasing in their guttural outcry.
Now in a moment came a pause in the tumult, and I read in my opponent’s eyes, as distinctly as though they were mirrors, that the triumphant brute behind me was showing itself alert with consciousness of the living prey that yet offered itself in reversion. I saw in the man’s face amazement resolve itself into sick terror; he slipped back into its sheath the couteau-poignard he had half drawn. “Adieu-va!” I shouted at him, advancing—and on the word he wheeled about and pounded off amongst the trees as if the devil were at his heels.
When I ran to Mademoiselle de Lâge, she was regaining in a dazed manner her feet and her faculties.
“I must lift you—I must help you!” I cried. “Ah! do not look, but come away! My God, what peril, when the beast in man is made manifest to the beast in the beast!”
I put my right arm about her under hers. To touch the very stringy texture of the jupon with my hand was to find my heart queerly lodged in my finger-tips. She came quietly with me a few paces; then suddenly she wrenched herself free, and, turning her back upon me, fumbled in her bosom.
“Monsieur,” she said on a little faint key, from the covert of her hair (Bon Dieu! that admirable low huskiness in her voice that made of her every utterance a caress!),—“monsieur, he was the old brave of my little troop. I called him my Chevalier du Guet. It was inhuman—yes, it was inhuman; but he struck for his lady and rescued her. Wilt thou not be my ambassador to decorate him for a last token of gratitude?”