Nanette and Marie chattered incessantly when they were in the hut. Fortunately their work kept them a good deal without.
Later, Morice fell asleep to the whirring of the spinning-wheel. It was more soothing than unintelligible Breton.
For two days he remained in the hut of old Nanette. On the third he was strong enough to rise. Weak though he was, he could return now to Varenac.
He still had his work to do; and what might not be happening if the story of his death had got abroad?
At first Nanette refused the gold he offered her with halting but heartfelt thanks.
It was le bon Dieu who had sent him, she said. But the sight of the glittering coins was too much for her thrifty soul to withstand; and folk said the winter was likely to be a hard one.
So she took money and thanks, bidding her patient a voluble farewell, and invoking many blessings on his head.
Morice was already half across a forest glade before she had come to the end of them.
It was past mid-day, but, though the autumn sunshine warmed the purple landes beyond, it was chilly in the shade. More than once Morice paused, shivering a little; but whether from cold, weakness, or the excitement of what he knew must lie before him, he could not tell.
A step on the path, a bend in the road, the flutter of a crimson cloak—and there before him stood Cécile herself.