So they went—regretfully, perhaps,—when they thought of the château, and the fine night's plunder and amusement they had promised themselves, but hurriedly when they remembered the woman who stood, crying, scornfully and accusingly, to them that their good priest was dead—murdered.
But it was possible they would come back. Cowed they might be, but they were dangerous still.
None knew that better than Madame.
They had tasted the sweets of momentary power. They had cried "Vive la nation!"
They would cry it again at the bidding of another Floessel.
"We must not delay," she said, speaking very quietly, yet with a great effort; "it is still far to the cave."
"To the cave! You will leave the good father, Madame Maman?"
Cécile's voice was reproachful.
"He needs no more of our care, my child," replied her mother gravely. "Nor could we leave him in a more fitting resting-place."
She crossed herself reverently as she spoke, bending over the little figure in its brown habit; such a little shrunken figure it looked, but the smile transfigured a wrinkled, care-worn old face into a strangely majestic beauty.