He would allow no one else to perform the task of arranging the mattress comfortably in the cart. When this had been done to his satisfaction, he heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed:
“It is time to start!”
Slowly he ascended the narrow staircase leading to the loft.
M. d’Escorval had not thought of the moment of parting.
At the sight of the honest farmer, who came toward him, his face crimsoned with emotion to bid him farewell, he forgot all the comforts that awaited him at the Borderie, in the remembrance of the loyal and courageous hospitality he had received in the house he was about to leave. The tears sprang to his eyes.
“You have rendered me a service which nothing can repay, Father Poignot,” he said, with intense feeling. “You have saved my life.”
“Oh! we will not talk of that, Baron. In my place, you would have done the same—neither more nor less.”
“I shall not attempt to express my thanks, but I hope to live long enough to prove that I am not ungrateful.”
The staircase was so narrow that they had considerable difficulty in carrying the baron down; but finally they had him comfortably extended upon his mattress and threw over him a few handsful of straw, which concealed him entirely.
“Farewell, then!” said the old farmer, when the last hand-shake had been exchanged, “or rather au revoir, Monsieur le Baron, Madame, and you, my good cure.”