“I thank you,” answered Mitaine; “but if you had known me, you would have taken care not to tell me this history, for it only redoubles my desire to meet this dreadful tyrant.”
The peasant raised his arms to Heaven, as if to call it to witness the efforts he had made; then he again sat down before his ruined cabin.
“You must be poor,” said Mitaine, feeling in her purse. “Take this; you will be my heir if I die, which does not appear to me quite so certain. In any case, the money is yours. Pass the night in prayers for my success, and in the meantime point out to me the road that I must follow.”
The peasant rose, took Mitaine by the hand, and climbed with her a naked height which overlooked the country.
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“You see that footpath which borders the forest? That you must follow. Whither it leads no one knows. Heaven be with you! Farewell!”
“Let me embrace you,” said Mitaine, holding out her arms to the peasant, who sank on his knees, as if in the presence of the dead. She flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him; the old man wept; one of his tears fell on Mitaine’s hand, she signed herself with it as if it had been holy water;—then she departed. The peasant remained on his knees praying until sunset; after that he sought his miserable home, put his children to bed, lit a taper, and again betook himself to prayer until morning.