"Ronan," she murmured convulsively seizing the arm of the Vagre, "I have neither father nor mother left; you delivered me from the count and the bishop; you have a good heart; you are full of pity for the poor; you have treated me with the tenderness of a brother; it was only last night that I saw you for the first time, and yet it seems to me that I have known you long, long—"
And the girl took both the Vagre's hands, kissed them, and added with tremulous lips:
"If those Franks should kill you!—"
"If they should kill me, little Odille?"
Saying this the Vagre turned his head towards the hermit, and pointing to him with his eyes added:
"Should the Franks kill me, yonder good hermit-laborer will protect you."
"I promise you, my child, should misfortune befall your friend, I shall protect you."
"Little Odille," Ronan now said with almost embarrassed mien, "one kiss on your forehead—it will be first, and may be the last."
The child was weeping silently; she reached her girlish forehead to Ronan; he touched it with his lips, and raising his sword dashed off on a run. Hardly had Ronan left when the cry of the Vagres was heard attacking the leudes. At the cries, Odille threw herself distracted into the arms of the hermit, hid her face on his breast and sobbed aloud:
"They will kill him! They will kill him!"