After wandering about the forest more than an hour, trembling at the slightest sound, lest they should fall in with Leroux and his confederates, the fugitives heard the steps of several horses. That could be nothing but the constabulary in search of the brigands. The dumb girl and the stranger started in the direction of the sound. Soon a man passed them, running at full speed; it was Leroux, with a horseman in pursuit. Another man on horseback followed, and, when he saw Sister Anne's companion, cried: "Here's my master! Thank heaven, the scoundrels didn't kill him!"
The traveller pointed out to the officers the abode of the brigands; then, mounting a horse that his servant was leading, he took the dumb girl en croupe who had saved his life, and they rode rapidly out of the forest.
The traveller did not cease to express his gratitude to his liberatress, while she thanked God that she was no longer in the power of the robbers.
The servant told his master that, a few moments after he had fled into the forest, the constables appeared, and the outlaws thought of nothing but escape; but two of them were overtaken, and were killed while resisting capture. Thereupon, taking the horses, which had already been unhitched from the chaise, the servant had mounted one and joined the constables who were searching the forest, hoping to find his master.
A danger passed is soon forgotten. They arrived at a large village, and the travellers knocked at the door of a farmhouse, where they were made welcome and received every attention. The dumb girl was especially in need of speedy assistance. The horrible situation in which she had been placed for two days, the danger she had barely escaped, the superhuman effort she had made during that ghastly night—all these things together had been too much for the unfortunate child, who was hardly able to stand erect. They put her in a warm bed; the people at the farm, when they learned of her condition and of what she had done to save the aged traveller, manifested the most sympathetic interest in her, and her companion would not go to bed until he was certain that everything possible had been done for his liberatress.
The next day, the carriage, which had been found on the road, was brought to the farm, and there was nothing to prevent the stranger from continuing his journey; but Sister Anne was in a high fever, and he was unwilling to leave her until he was assured that her life was in no danger. The best physician in the neighborhood was summoned; the stranger spent money lavishly to provide her with everything that her condition demanded. He passed a large part of the day in her room, adding his attentions to those of the farmer's family.
Sister Anne was conscious of all that he did for her, and her heart was deeply touched. Despite her weakness and suffering, she seized his hand and pressed it gratefully.
"Poor woman!" said the stranger, profoundly affected; "I will not leave you until my mind is at rest concerning your life. I would have liked to take you to your destination, in my carriage. What can I do for you? You can hear me, I see; so that you are deprived of the power of speech only. Do you know how to write?"
Sister Anne shook her head; then she seemed suddenly to remember something, and made a movement with her hand as if she were trying to form letters. The old man handed her a pen, but she could not use it; then he gave her a piece of chalk; whereupon she sat up in bed, leaned over a table that stood beside it, and succeeded, not without a mighty effort, in writing the name Frédéric with the chalk. That done, she pointed to it and sadly shook her head, as if to say:
"That is all I know."