“God be praised!” exclaimed Maurice, “Marie-Anne’s father has escaped! He had a good horse, and in two hours——”
A glance and a nudge of the elbow from the abbe checked him.
The abbe drew his attention to the man standing near them. This man was none other than Chupin.
The old scoundrel had also recognized them, for he took off his hat to the cure, and with an expression of intense covetousness in his eyes, he said: “Twenty thousand francs! what a sum! A man could live comfortably all his life on the interest of it.”
The abbe and Maurice shuddered as they re-entered their carriage.
“Lacheneur is lost if this man discovers his retreat,” murmured the priest.
“Fortunately, he must have crossed the frontier before this,” replied Maurice. “A hundred to one he is beyond reach.”
“And if you should be mistaken. What, if wounded and faint from loss of blood, Lacheneur has had only strength to drag himself to the nearest house and ask the hospitality of its inmates?”
“Oh! even in that case he is safe; I know our peasants. There is not one who is capable of selling the life of a proscribed man.”
The noble enthusiasm of youth drew a sad smile from the priest.