I had scarcely left the house when I saw some French peasants coming towards me with a litter. A woman, walking behind the litter, carried a lantern, and one of our soldiers of artillery attended and directed. I ran forward, and discovered Voban, mortally hurt. The woman gave a cry, and spoke my name in a kind of surprise and relief; and the soldier, recognizing me, saluted. I sent him for a surgeon, and came on with the hurt man to the little house. Soon I was alone with him save for Babette, and her I sent for a priest. As soon as I had seen Voban I guessed what had happened: he had tried for his revenge at last. After a little time he knew me, but at first he could not speak.
"What has happened—the Palace?" said I.
He nodded.
"You blew it up—with Bigot?" I asked.
His reply was a whisper, and his face twitched with pain:
"Not—with Bigot."
I gave him some cordial, which he was inclined to refuse. It revived him, but I saw he could live only a few hours. Presently he made an effort. "I will tell you," he whispered.
"Tell me first of my wife," said I. "Is she alive?—is she alive?"
If a smile could have been upon his lips then, I saw one there—good Voban! I put my ear down, and my heart almost stopped beating, until I heard him say, "Find Mathilde."
"Where?" asked I.
"In the Valdoche Hills," he answered, "where the Gray Monk lives—by the Tall Calvary."