“All right,” answered Catherine, without a sign of flinching, as she seized his wrist, but poor Sidonie was trembling like an aspen-leaf.
Under the lance the vein was opened and there spurted out a stream of blood, the sight of which nearly distracted the little lame girl.
“Good! good!” said Monsieur Eugène, with a smile.
“Is he saved?” asked Jean in a trembling whisper.
“At all events, the chances are in his favor.”
“But those cattle must have crushed his bones,” insisted Manant, who was still possessed by a horrible doubt.
“Jean, my boy, it is a miracle; but, barring more or less severe contusions, Bruno has escaped.”
Still incredulous, Jean regarded Monsieur Eugène steadily for half a minute as if to read the truth in the latter’s face. Calmly Eugène returned his gaze and soon Jean’s doubts vanished, for a sigh fell from Bruno’s lips.
A great joy illumined Manant’s face and Sidonie lifted her eyes in prayer. Old Jeannille sat unmoved and impenetrable. Catherine looked at the young man a little curiously. He seemed too slender and delicate a fellow to be so daring. His white arm was like a woman’s. Indeed, what woman in St. Benoit could not boast of more muscle than he? And his slender wrist inspired a sort of pity in her breast.
“Poor fellow!” she murmured to herself, as she reflected how ardently, though respectfully, Bruno loved her—not daring to confess it.