I remember smiling, in all my grief and anxiety, at his air of patronage.
I went first, after I had lighted the lantern, then came my mother, and lastly Andrew.
We heard only distant and muffled sounds, and judged that the people were busied in the cellar, where was stored not only wine and liquor, but abundance of old cider, strong as brandy itself.
We had just reached the level of the chapel and were about passing the door which led into it, when Blanchon the cat stopped, growling fiercely. In another moment a light shone through the opened door. The next Blanchon sprang forward with his wild, unearthly yell of onset, and flung himself into the face of a man who had just put his head through the opening. There was a scream of quite another character, and the man fled stumbling and falling on his way out, while Blanchon came back to us with the loud purr, which was his way of expressing complacency.
"Good cat," said Andrew. "That man won't find his way back in a hurry, but some one else may. Hold up the light, Vevette."
I held up the light while Andrew pulled to the door and with a stone smashed the spring-lock.
"Nobody will open that, even if any one dares try," said he. "Now for all the haste we can make."
I caught up Blanchon and carried him, to which he made no objection. We were soon in the open air, and walking quickly down the course of the stream which had scooped out the valley, we found ourselves in the little hamlet. It seemed to be deserted. Not a man was to be seen, nor a light, save in Isabeau's cottage. The night had grown wild and stormy, but it was not very dark. And we could see the mast of the boat, which lay at the end of the little pier.
"Now if Pierre has been true," said Andrew, and at that moment we heard his voice.
"Monsieur and madame, is that you! All is ready; but we shall have a wild night."