The wounded man was lifted carefully and placed upon the mattress.
A long and difficult operation which, in spite of extreme caution, drew many terrible groans from the baron.
When all was ready, each officer took an end of the litter, and the little procession, headed by the abbe, started on its way. They were obliged to proceed slowly on account of the suffering which the least jolting inflicted upon the baron. Still they made some progress, and by daybreak they were about half way to Poignot’s house.
It was then that they met some peasants going to their daily toil. Both men and women paused to look at them, and when the little cortege had passed they still stood gazing curiously after these people who were apparently carrying a dead body.
The priest did not seem to trouble himself in regard to these encounters; at least, he made no attempt to avoid them.
But he did seem anxious and cautious when, after a three hours’ march, they came in sight of Poignot’s cottage.
Fortunately there was a little grove not far from the house. The abbe made the party enter it, recommending the strictest prudence, while he went on in advance to confer with this man, upon whose decision the safety of the whole party depended.
As the priest approached the house, a small, thin man, with gray hair and a sunburned face emerged from the stable.
It was Father Poignot.
“What! is this you, Monsieur le Cure!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Heavens! how pleased my wife will be. We have a great favor to ask of you——”