"But, if you are——"
Mario stopped short; his heart sank.
"If I am laid out, you mean? Well, it will be of no use for you to grieve, it will not help matters. If you stop to pity me, you will lose your head and your legs! You must think of nothing but running."
"No, my friend, your risk is too great; let us remain concealed here."
"And suppose, while we are hiding, they burn up Madame Lauriane, your Mercedes, Adamas—and my poor carriage horses in the stable yonder! Besides—Look you, I am going alone. When the road is clear you can pass."
"Come on! come on!" said Mario. "Everything for Lauriane and Mercedes!"
He was about to rush out of the garden, when Pilar detained him.
"Remember that other villains are to come here—I know it. If you meet them, hide carefully, for your gold buttons gleam in the darkness like diamonds, and they will kill you just to get your clothes."
"I have an idea!" exclaimed Mario. "I will put on my gypsy rags, which are right here."
The reader will remember the rustic, sentimental and philosophic trophy, which had been suspended in the cottage with great pomp.