"Fear not," he replied, soothing her, while at the same time he drew her within the decayed trunk of an enormous chestnut tree over whose head more than one century must have rolled. "They proceed too rapidly along the road, too swiftly on their way, to be in search of us. More like they go to midnight murder, the destruction of some harmless village, the pillage of some helpless town."
"Murder! Destruction! you deem it that? You!" she whispered, her soft, pure eyes glancing up at his.
"I deem it that," he replied gravely, "retaliation though it be."
The band went on, their voices coming back to them on the still night air, the refrain of one of their hymns borne back also--a hymn still breathing of revenge blessed by God, of vengeance ordained by him.
"If you are rested again," he whispered, "we may proceed."
Still helping her, assisting her as gently as though he had been her brother, he led her on until at last they left the shelter of the woods and stood upon a little knoll of ground, a spot from which they looked across a plain bordered on the farther side by slopes and hills that, rising one behind the other, lifted themselves finally to mountains whose ridges and summits stood out sharply against the starry sky. Yet saw, too, that now the stars grew whiter and began to pale, that all the heavens were turning to a soft primrose hue, while, far away to the east, was the warm suffusing of scarlet which told of the coming day. Afar off, also, observed other crimson streaks over which there hung dun-coloured palls of smoke that proceeded from burning towns and hamlets.
Shuddering, Urbaine directed her glance to the latter, then said, looking toward the north:
"There ahead of us is the Château de Servas. You see?" and as she spoke she pointed to where, above a low purple-crested hill, a white building hung.
"I see," he answered. "Pray God we reach it. You can still go on?"
"I must go on," she replied. "Once there we are safe. The château is well garrisoned."