Having no idea what she was doing, or what was going to become of her, Isaure collected a few clothes at random, tied them in a handkerchief, took the bundle in her hand, and leaned against the wall in order not to fall.
"That is well," said the vagabond; "now give me your hand and come."
He took the hand which the girl tremblingly held out to him; he led her to the staircase, and seeing that she was staggering, compelled her to lean on his arm. When they arrived in the courtyard, Isaure saw Vaillant bathed in his blood; the faithful beast uttered a plaintive groan, and tried to rise to defend his mistress. At that sight, Isaure lost consciousness; she was falling to the ground when her guide caught her in his arms; and, throwing her over his left shoulder, walked toward the garden, preferring to go out that way rather than through the main gateway. He opened the small gate leading into the fields and picked up his sword which he had left there; then, notwithstanding the burden which he carried, he walked with a firm and swift step toward the mountains. It was a cold, rainy night, but the vagabond made rapid progress, although he took the steepest paths and the rough, winding roads by preference. From time to time he turned his head to glance at her whom he was carrying. Isaure was still unconscious, her lovely face had the pallor of death, and was wet with the rain which fell upon her whole body. But, little touched by the girl’s state, her abductor, after glancing at her, simply muttered:
"She will come out all right! This is not very serious!"
After walking a long while in this way, the stranger stopped on the top of a hill; he gazed about for some time, as if trying to make out where he was; then he placed the rain-soaked, unconscious girl on the ground, saying:
"I must take breath; she is not heavy, but after awhile the weight makes itself felt."
He gazed for some time at the body lying at his feet, which seemed already to belong to death; a bitter smile played about his lips while he gazed at Isaure, and he exclaimed:
"So here she is in my power, this girl whom the baron secretly comes to these mountains to see, this peasant whose education he has provided for, and whom he adores, no doubt! At last I am about to taste the pleasures of revenge! I wanted Alfred to abduct this girl, I tried to induce him to do all sorts of foolish things, and to fight with his friend; but all that would not have distressed the baron so much as the loss of this girl. Yes, I know what a man feels when another steals from him the woman whom he adores; I too loved Adèle; Adèle was mine; I had the right to look upon her as my wife; and yet he took her away from me!"
Several moments passed, the vagabond seemed entirely absorbed by his memories; but at last he looked at Isaure again and stooped over her, saying:
"She doesn’t come to herself! She doesn’t move! Suppose she should die! Oh! I do not want her to die! No, so long as she is with me, she may live,—but with De Marcey, never!"