“Now the rope,� ordered the cobbler; “slip it twice around her waist—that is it; draw her back to the post and tie it securely.�
He helped Babet in this, putting the pistol back into his bosom. Mère Tigrane was black in the face with rage, but she could offer no resistance; only, her terrible eyes leered at them—red as blood.
Rosaline had gone out and was leaning against a tree, her face colorless and her hands clasped. When the others joined her, she turned and threw her arms about Babet and burst into tears, too overcome to speak. The woman tried to comfort and soothe her.
“’Twas Truffe who found you,� she said, “bless the creature! The cobbler and I would have been searching still, but suddenly she put her nose to the ground and came straight as an arrow!�
Le Bossu was not listening to them; he had walked a few yards into the wood and knelt down, bending his head close to the ground. When he arose his face was white and he moved quickly toward them.
“Have courage, mademoiselle,� he said quietly, “but let us be gone, there are horsemen in the road by St. Cyr; the dragoons have returned.�
CHAPTER XXIII
THE COBBLER’S BARGAIN
The two women and le Bossu had followed the course of the stream, walking rapidly along the bank, and now they descended the rocky path by the cataract. They were travelling west and the afternoon sun shone full in their faces; the wind was blowing too,—a chill November wind that swept the leaves from the chestnut trees and dropped the empty burrs. They had not wasted breath in words, and now le Bossu left them and ran forward, looking under the lowest branches; then he whistled softly. There was a response, and Babet and Rosaline stopped in alarm; they expected no one. The next moment, however, a tall figure came rapidly towards them and Rosaline recognized her lover. She gave a little sob of joy and ran to meet him, the dog bounding beside her. They met a few yards in front of the others and he caught her in his arms, supporting her trembling form. Le Bossu looked but once; in their joy they had forgotten him. He turned his back and approached Babet, putting a small but heavy bag in her hands.
“That is mademoiselle’s,� he said calmly; “guard it well. And now—go on in God’s name! Do not let them tarry, for Death is behind them.�
Babet had learned to value the poor little hunchback, but she was sober and undemonstrative.