"Ah, that little redoubt cost us some trouble."
"Gave us his own residence. You know what ensued. Cannon shot fell through the roof of the house, on which my aunt, our servants, and I rushed forth into the streets, and were separated by a crowd of terrified fugitives. Ignorant alike whither to turn my steps, or where to seek shelter, while shells were bursting, flaming rockets and hand-grenades flying about in every direction, I rushed into a lonely alley, where I met a man who, by his attire, seemed to be one of our Breton peasantry—a woodcutter; but ah, mon Dieu! he proved to be that wretch, Theophile Hautois. Politely enough he offered to conduct me to a place of safety, and led me from St. Solidore, away out into the fields, where the country was open and lonely. There he spoke of love, and attempted to kiss and caress me; but I resisted, though sinking with terror, and struck him in the face with my clenched hand. Then he grew enraged, and tying my wrists, dragged me into that mulberry grove, where heaven surely sent you to my rescue."
"I am, indeed, most fortunate in having been of such service to you, mademoiselle; and I shall ever remember with pride that I have seen and had the honour of speaking with a daughter of the great Marshal de Broglie, the hero of Sangerhausen."
She bowed and coloured with pleasure; but when the sound of wheels was heard, she clasped her hands and exclaimed—
"Ah, mon Dieu, how fortunate! Now, my kind friend, you shall be relieved of all further trouble with me, for here comes good and kind Father Celestine, le Curé of St. Solidore."
While she spoke, a désobligeant (as those small chaises which hold only one person are not incorrectly named in France) was driven rapidly along the road; but the driver pulled up when my companion called to him by name:
"Jacquot—Jacquot Tricot—where is M. le Curé?"
"Here, mademoiselle. Oh, Clementissime Jesu! what has happened? how are you here?—who is this man?—why in such company? and who has dared—what has he done to you? my dear child, Jacqueline, what is the meaning of all this?" cried an old gentleman, all in a breath, as he opened the door of the désobligeant and sprang agilely out. As he approached us, hat in hand, and bowing low at every pace, I could see that he was a fine looking old man—a priest, evidently, as he wore a black silk soutan, with at least fifty little buttons in front; he wore also a tippet and small gold cross, and had his white hair tied behind by a black ribbon. His pale countenance was mild and pleasing, though he surveyed me with an expression of eye which evinced that he had no particular desire to cultivate my acquaintance; and maitre Jacquot from his box regarded me with undisguised animosity and alarm.
"Ah, dearest Père Celestine," said the young lady, clasping his proffered hand between both of hers, "I have been saved from great peril by this kind soldier; but take me away with you—oh, take me away—and I shall tell you all about it."
"Kind—ha—hum. Monsieur le Soldat, I thank you," said the Curé, making a bow so profound, that a cloud of hair-powder flew about his head, and his little cocked hat, which he was too polite to assume before a lady, swept the road in his right hand; "from my soul I thank you, for Mademoiselle Jacqueline is my dearest child."