"I should say as much!" said Mario with a sigh; "but listen to those shrieks, monsieur l'abbé; there is somebody in great distress. Let us go to see."
Behind the hill where the smoke was ascending, they heard shrieks, or rather one long, piercing, heart-rending shriek. The appalling duration of that distant cry, which seemed to be uttered by a child, made a profound impression on the abbé. Clindor could not believe that it was a human voice.
"No, no," he said, "either that is a shepherd's pipe, or somebody is killing a kid."
"It is a human being expiring in torture," said Monsieur Poulain; "I know that frightful music only too well!"
"Let us hasten then!" cried Mario; "we may be in time to save an unfortunate fellow creature. Come, come, monsieur l'abbé! The peace is signed; no one has the right to torture Huguenots!"
"It is too late," said the priest, "the sounds have ceased."
The shrieks had suddenly ceased and the smoke had disappeared. Perhaps they were mistaken. However, they urged their horses and soon reached the top of the hill.
Thereupon they espied, in the valley beyond, and much farther away than they had supposed, a group of peasants bustling about a half-extinct fire. Before they came within ear-shot, the men had dispersed. A single old woman remained near the smoking ashes, which she was turning over with a fork as if in search of something. Mario arrived first at the spot, where his nostrils were assailed by an acrid, intolerable odor.
"What are you looking for there, mother?" he said; "what have you been burning?"
"Oh! nothing, my fine gentleman! nothing but a witch who gave us the fever with her look whenever she passed. Our men made an end of her, and I am looking to see if she didn't leave her secret in the ashes."