The assault was so violent and unexpected, the will that inspired it was so obviously set in the prologue of vicious possibilities, that the victim collapsed where he stood, bellowing like a bull-frog. It is true that he lacked a familiar stimulus to his courage.
“Now,” said Ned, “return those goods to the bundle and fasten them in; or, by the holy Virgin of Méricourt, I’ll lay an information against you for brigands before M. le Maire.”
There was an ominous stress in his very chords of speech. They may have recognised him or not. In any case this change of fortune might unsheathe the terrific claws of a hitherto unallied enemy. Charlot dropped upon his knees and with shaking fingers began to manipulate the bundle.
“It is enough,” said Ned between his teeth. “Now, go!”
The two scurried off amongst the trees, glancing over their shoulders as they went, with scared faces. The next moment Ned was aware that Mademoiselle Lambertine had crept up to him, and was holding out her hands in an entreating manner.
“Monsieur!” she whispered.
He faced about. The girl was arrayed for a journey, it seemed. A cloak was clasped about her neck; from her brown hair hung over her shoulders, like the targe of a Highlander, a round straw hat with an ungainly width of brim; stout shoes and a foot of homespun stocking showed under her short skirt. Nevertheless the glowing ardour of her face and form triumphed over all disabilities.
“They are brutes and cowards,” said Ned gravely. “I don’t think they will trouble you again. Here is your property.”
She did not take it at once. He shrugged his shoulders and laid it on the ground at her feet.
“Monsieur!” pleaded the girl. Something seemed to choke her from proceeding.