I cannot say whether the good woman, whose love and devotion toward her master were extreme, did or did not secretly bestow upon him her own scanty portion of the common food which was doled out to all those who had given up their own stores to be disposed of by the city; but certain it is that, till the sun had nearly set, she and Edward contrived every quarter of an hour to furnish the old man a small piece of meat and a mouthful of pea-bread, with a few spoonfuls of the brandy-and-water.
At length the hour for departure came; and the parting between the old syndic and the faithful Marton was a very painful one. They said nothing, it is true; but she kissed his hand, and her tears, whether she would or not, fell upon it. Clement Tournon wept too; but Edward drew him slowly away, and once more he went out into the streets of Rochelle.
Those streets were nearly vacant, for almost everybody not wanted on the walls had retired to their miserable dwellings, there in solitude and famine to wait the return of the daylight which brought no comfort and very little hope.
Two men indeed passed by at a slow pace, and turned to look. "There goes old Clement Tournon," said one,—"up to the town-house, I suppose, as usual."
"I thought he was dead," said the other. "Old Dr. Cavillac died last night."
They spoke aloud, for those were no times of delicacy; and Edward, fearful that the old syndic had heard such depressing words, whispered, "I trust, Monsieur Tournon, you will be able to obtain such terms as the city can accept."
"Pray God I may!" said the old man, not perceiving Edward's little stroke of art in playing off hope against despair. "Oh, it would be the brightest day of my life!"
They walked slowly, very slowly; but at length they reached the gate, over which a very feeble oil-lamp was burning under the heavy stone arch; for by this time even an article of such common necessity as oil was terribly scarce in Rochelle. The common soldiers on guard were evidently indisposed to let Edward and his companion pass; but the young officer whom the mayor had called Bernard was soon summoned forth from the guard-house, and with a reverent pressure of the hand he welcomed the old syndic. "God bless you, sir!" he said. "I was right glad to hear what Monsieur Guiton told me. Would to Heaven I had a horse or mule to give you to help you across! but it is not half a mile, and I trust you have strength for that."
"God knows, Bernard," said the old man, who was leaning very heavily upon Edward's arm. "I trust my going may be good for the city. Were it not for that hope, I should be well contented to stay and die here. God knows how often during the last week I have wished that it were all over and these eyes closed."