“Your weapons were better than mine,” he said; “but your task was harder: for you had to fight against prejudice as well.”
The Cagot, still holding his pig by the ear, crept up to the young man and caught and ravenously kissed his hand. Then he looked wistfully at a brown-haired goddess.
“Oh, mon Dieu, no!” said Théroigne. “You must not touch me or come near me.”
She turned and addressed Ned, almost with an entreating sound in her voice:—
“You have courage of every sort, monsieur. But for me—yes, it is as you say. My heart warms to such valour; but I cannot forget in a moment these long traditions—this fear and this abhorrence. Do not let him approach me.”
She stepped back, as if to escape a very radiated influence. But she spoke softly to the Englishman, and with the manner of one who in giving help has wrought a little conscious bond of sympathy.
“Bid the man go hence by the Liége road,” she said. “So will he evade his persecutors. But a few toises out he can enter the woods and work round to his lair.”
“I will see him on his way, mademoiselle.”
He bade her good morning quite respectfully, and drove the Cagot before him from the village. It was slow progress, for the recalcitrant pig must be humoured. The man looked back from time to time, his face full of the most human gratitude. A little way on he paused by an outlying cottage until his benefactor was come up with him. Then, smiling brightly, he stayed Ned with a significant gesture, and went on tiptoe to the door that stood open. A loaf lay on a table within. This the Cagot seized with a muttered word, and so came forth again, hugging his prize.
“What, the devil!” cried Ned.