This seemed so inevitably a death-warrant for them all, that they shuddered.
“My God! what shall we do?” faltered Maurice. “What course shall we pursue?”
Not a voice replied. It was clear that they hoped for salvation through the priest alone.
He was lost in thought, and it was some time before he spoke.
“About an hour’s walk from here,” he said, at last, “beyond the Croix d’Arcy, is the hut of a peasant upon whom I can rely. His name is Poignot; and he was formerly in Monsieur Lacheneur’s employ. With the assistance of his three sons, he now tills quite a large farm. We must procure a litter and carry Monsieur d’Escorval to the house of this honest peasant.”
“What, Monsieur,” interrupted one of the officers, “you wish us to procure a litter at this hour of the night, and in this neighborhood?”
“It must be done.”
“But, will it not awaken suspicion?”
“Most assuredly.”
“The Montaignac police will follow us.”