"I'll go!" and he set off at the best pace his years and his shaking legs could compass.
Plaisance was standing at its doors, trembling still at that fearsome cry, and wondering if it was, perchance, the last trump.
At sight of the panting figure coming up from the Coupée, it scuttled and banged the doors tight. "Open! Open, you fools!" cried the Sénéchal, and flung himself against the first door, while those inside, under the sure belief that they were keeping out the devil, heaped themselves against it to prevent him.
"Dolts! Idiots! Fools!" he cried. "It's me—the Sénéchal. I want your help!" and at that a man peeped out from the next door to make sure this was not just another wile of the devil.
"A lantern! Quick!" ordered the Sénéchal. "And a blanket and a rope—and get ready a bed for a wounded man. Come you with me and help!"
"Mais, mon Gyu——!" began the man.
"We've killed the devil, and the Doctor's down there with him——"
"But we don't want him here, M. le Sénéchal," quavered a woman's voice, in terror.
"Fools! It's Mr. Gard that is hurt. The devil's down in Coupée Bay, and we've killed him for you."
"Ah then, Gyu marchi! Here's a blanket—and the lantern—rope's in barn. You get a bed ready," to the woman, and they went off towards the Coupée.