“But all is lost!”
“Yes, I know that all is lost—even honor. Leave me here. I must remain; I must die, and thus hide my shame. I must, it shall be so!”
Just then Chanlouineau appeared.
Had he divined the secret of her resistance? Perhaps; but without uttering a word, he lifted her in his strong arms as if she had been a child and bore her to the carriage guarded by Abbe Midon.
“Get in,” he said, addressing the priest, “and quick—take Mademoiselle Lacheneur. Now, Maurice, in your turn!”
But already the duke’s soldiers were masters of the field. Seeing a group in the shadow, at a little distance, they rushed to the spot.
The heroic Chanlouineau seized his gun, and brandishing it like a club, held the enemy at bay, giving Maurice time to spring into the carriage, catch the reins and start the horse off at a gallop.
All the cowardice and all the heroism displayed on that terrible night will never be really known.
Two minutes after the departure of Marie-Anne and of Maurice, Chanlouineau was still battling with the foe.
A dozen or more soldiers were in front of him. Twenty shots had been fired, but not a ball had struck him. His enemies always believed him invulnerable.