I saw the other women coming towards us under the trees, and then of a sudden I knew our danger.
“We cannot stay here,” I cried. “They will be back again. The one who fled will bring them, hot for vengeance. We must go!”
The women looked down the road, white-faced.
“Not you others, perhaps,” I said. “You were not here—they will not seek for you. But we—I and my sister—must go.”
“Yes—but whither?” asked my aunt.
Whither? I did not know. I did not care. Here there was only death.
It was my sister who proved the wisest—then as always.
“I will go to Aignan,” she said, with a calmness that astonished me. “The good sisters will protect me and give me sanctuary. You, dear Pierre, must go farther—to some great city, where you can lose yourself for a time.”
My blood was tingling. I knew whither I would go.
“To Paris!” I cried. “To Paris!”