Edouard wished to scour the country, to follow the tracks of Isaure’s abductors; he flattered himself that he could overtake them, and he asked Alfred for his weapons.
"What do you mean to do now, pray?" asked Alfred. "You have no idea in what direction they have gone! Which way do you propose to go this dark night? Is it not better to wait till daylight?"
"Wait! Why, perhaps even now she may be calling to me for help! Everything seems to indicate that it is not long since this horrible crime was committed. I implore you, Alfred, give me your pistols! What have you to fear? I only wish to restore Isaure to your father. If he had been here, doubtless he would have defended her. Come! come! Let us search these mountains; perhaps there is still time to save her."
Alfred yielded to his friend’s entreaties; he gave him one of his pistols, kept the other, and tried to keep up with Edouard, who started across the country at a rapid pace.
The weather was still unpleasant, and it was difficult to distinguish objects at a short distance. Edouard frequently stopped and listened to see whether he could not hear shrieks or footsteps. They had passed the White House, and were going toward Chadrat, Alfred being some yards behind Edouard, when they heard footsteps in front of them. Edouard instantly rushed forward, and before Alfred had time to urge him to be prudent, he found himself face to face with a person whom he abruptly stopped:
"Where are you going? Where have you come from?"
The man whom Edouard had arrested took a step backward, and drawing his arm from beneath his cloak, held a pistol in the young man’s face as he retorted in a firm voice:
"By what right do you question me?"
At the sound of that voice so familiar to his heart, Alfred darted in front of Edouard, exclaiming:
"Wretched man! What are you doing? It is my father!"