There was a red light wavering at the back of the village, and against it the gables stood out blackly.
“I think you promised to guard that house!” said Grûl.
But I had no answer. With a cry of rage and horror I was away, running at the top of my speed. The Abbé’s stroke had fallen; and I—with a sickness that clutched my heart—saw that my absence might well be set down to treachery.
Chapter XIV
Love Me, Love my Dog
As I emerged from the woods I noted that the glare was greater than before. But before I reached the outskirts of the village it had begun to die down. My wild running up the main street attracted no attention—every one able to be about was at the fire.
I have no doubt that I was not long in covering those two miles from the western end of the village to the De Lamourie farm—but to me they seemed leagues of torment. At last I reached the gate, and dashed panting up the lane.
I saw that the house was already in ruins, though still burning with a fierce glow. I saw also, and wondered at it, that there had been no attempt made to quench the flames. There were no water buckets in view; there was no confusion of household goods as when willing hands throng to help; and the outbuildings, which might easily have been saved, were only now getting fairly into blaze. Across my confusion and pain there flashed a sense of the Black Abbé’s power. This fire was his doing—and none dared interfere to mitigate the stroke lest the like should fall upon them also. My eyes searched the mass of staring, redly lit faces, expecting to find some one of the De Lamourie household; but in vain. Presently I noticed that every one made way for me with an alacrity too prompt for mere respect; and I grew dully conscious that I was an object of shrinking aversion to my old fellow-villagers. My rage at the villain priest began to turn upon these misjudging fools. But I knew not what to say; I knew not what to do. I pushed roughly hither and thither, demanding information, but getting only vague and muttered replies.
“Where are they?” I asked again and again, and broke out cursing furiously; but every one I spoke to evaded a direct answer.
“Have that arch fiend and his red devils carried them off?” I asked at last; and to this I got hushed, astonished, terrified replies of—
“No, monsieur!” and, “No indeed, monsieur! They have escaped!” and, “Oh, but no, monsieur!”