"Here is the concealed closet still unconsumed," cried the Counsellor of Parliament, "just as I had supposed." He took a key, opened and held a light into it, among various articles, which were kept there, he found the picture in a little casket. He gazed upon it with tears, and was going to attach it to his person, when Lacoste seized his hand and said: "Only one moment, for the sake of former acquaintance and friendship: suffer this face after so many years to blossom once again in my desolate heart."
The father gave it to him trembling; Lacoste held it close to the light and gazed fixedly on it with his widely opened grey eyes; a tear unconsciously escaped him, he imprinted a kiss on the portrait and returned it to the Counsellor. "See, see," said he to himself, "every man remains still a fool, let him behave as he will. If they can feel and imagine as much over their relics, as I at this moment feel, then the unfortunate ones are not so entirely in error."
"Roland is stationed in the neighbourhood with his troops; a few of us may conduct your dear father, as far as you wish, so that at least our party does not harm you."
"Prudently spoken," said Lacoste, "for we are, with permission, very outrageous people."
The Counsellor of Parliament re-ascended the carriage with his friend, saying: "We are now indeed so far on our road, that the usual precaution becomes superfluous. Let us only be careful, that our friend Vila meets with no misfortune on our account." "Were my son only reasonable," said the latter, "they might do what they liked with me, old, half dead and worn out sinner; to die is almost a diversion to be sought for, to that have the ruling lords pushed affairs."
They drove off, and Edmond and Lacoste followed on horseback, in order to accompany them to Roland's troop.
CHAPTER V.
When the night was nearly elapsed and that Roland had long with-drawn with his troop into the distance, the little escorting band of Camisards was suddenly surprised, out of an ambush, by a considerable multitude of royalists. It was in the direction of Florac, where Vila with his friend had intended to seek a place of refuge, which he deemed safe. The confusion was general, and it seemed, that the destruction of the little troop of Camisards, as well as that of the travellers, was absolutely inevitable. During the firing and cries, Vila sprang from the carriage with pistols in his hand, and the Counsellor of Parliament followed him, without knowing clearly what was going to happen. By the grey light of the morning it was discovered that the attack was given from a valley lying sideways; the travellers were on the heights. The Counsellor of Parliament, who had quitted the carriage the last, saw immediately, that all were engaged in a mêleé, the royalists seemed to give way, when a second troop rushed out of the underwood of whom it was difficult to decide whether they were soldiers, or rebels. Before however the Counsellor was able to gain any certainty, or to form any resolution, the coachman laid hold of him, pressed him urgently to get into the carriage, and as he saw the old man's hesitation, he lifted him into it almost forcibly. "Better without the master, than to perish here with him, he will soon find us again," cried he in the utmost anxiety, and whipped the horses, so that they started off snorting in full gallop over hill and dale. After some time the Lord of Beauvais recovered his recollection and with much argument and dispute, he compelled the obstinate man to stand still again. On the summit of a mountain, from whence they could overlook the whole surrounding country, they awaited the one, who had remained behind. Of the combat nothing more was to be discovered: it seemed as if far in the distance a band of fugitives was flying; but nothing could be clearly distinguished. At length they espied two riders emerge from a copse, who pursued the same road. They approached nearer and the doctor was now seen waving a handkerchief and working his way up to the summit, mounted on a little horse. A young lad with his head bound up was following him. "You did well," cried he, when he arrived at the top, "to retreat immediately at the commencement of the battle; that is dull, insipid business, which does not suit us civilians."
"There Martin, for such is your name, take the nag again to yourself and do what you will with him." With these words he dismounted, and betook himself to the carriage, where he was first obliged to listen to many self-praises from his coachman, who wished to appropriate to himself the whole credit of this clever retreat, and on account of whose over-haste, the Lord of Beauvais abashed, entreated the pardon of his old friend. "It was no over-haste," cried Vila, "but the most prudent that could have occurred, I ought to have remained sitting in the carriage, for my little bit of firing was like a drop in the stream compared to the bravery of the Camisards; with them none of us can engage. These knaves understand no reason, whether balls fly, or swords glitter, it is to them mere pastime, and the smallest boys, who are scarcely weaned from their mother's breast, are just as much infatuated with this devilry as any of the oldest grey beards. I have seen that, for once quite close, which I could not have believed by hearsay; but now that I have witnessed it, it is enough for the rest of my life."
They stopped at a lonely inn to refresh the horses, and while they were enjoying their breakfast the doctor proceeded to relate the sequel of the event to his old friend. "How fortunate." he commenced, "that you were not present at our battle, for only think, your Edmond continued to accompany us, he would not be dissuaded from attending in person to your safety. When the scene now opened he was ever foremost. There was a young lad, who then came forward. 'From whence come you?' shouted the Camisards.--'What's that to you,' answered the impudent fellow,--'You are a traitor.'--'Wherefore insult,' cried the little man, 'honest people act not thus.'--'Hew him down!' cried another.--'Hew me down;' said the hop of my thumb, 'when I would sacrifice my life for you.'--'Who art thou?' was again reiterated.--'My name is Martin, further it is not necessary for you to know.'--Inquiry was cut short by firing and hewing down. It came near me, and I felt a goose-skin all over my body. I had already spent my powder without, perhaps, having hit any one, when the gigantic Lacoste took compassion on my trouble, and hewed down the knaves together as if they had been merely poppy heads. But Edmond who tried to cut his way through to me, got into a desperate mêlée. Two dragoons fell upon him, and struck furiously; but before they were able to hit, behold, my dear friend--the little rascal Martin, cut down one of them from his horse, and shot the other at the same moment almost through the breast, as if the urchin had been accustomed to nothing else all his life long. The stout Lacoste, the dog as he styles himself, was not tardy either, and your son lost neither courage nor strength; the Camisards were like so many devils, and thus those of the true faith were obliged to leave the field to us, on which a great number of their friends remained lying.--I could not discern my poor, dear son; he may very likely have gone with the main body of the troops; if they have not already slain, or taken him prisoner."