Glancing back, I saw that he followed me.
My heart was surging with gratitude to God for this chance. I vowed to save Anderson, though it cost me my own life. If Yvonne loved him she should then owe her happiness to me. If she did not love him she would see that I was quite other than the traitor she imagined. Strange to say, I felt no bitterness against her for so misjudging me. It seemed to me that my folly had been so great that I had deserved to be misjudged. But now, here was my opportunity. I swore under my breath that it should not slip from my grasp.
It was a good two-thirds of a mile from the parsonage to the wharf, and I had time to scheme as I ran. I thought at once of Nicole, the smith,—of his boat, and his brawn, and his loyal fidelity. His boat would assuredly be at the wharf, but where should I find his brawn and his fidelity?
At his cottage, beside the forge, I stopped to ask for him.
“At the fire, monsieur,” quavered his old mother, poking a troubled face from the window in answer to my thundering on the door. “What would you with him? Do not lead him into harm, Master Paul!”
But I was off without answering; and the poor, creaking, worried old voice followed in my ears:
“He takes no sides. He hurts no one, Master Paul!”
Passing the De Lamourie gate I paused to shout at the height of my lungs:
“Nicole! Nicole Brun! I want you! Nicole! Nicole!”
“Coming, Master Paul!” was the prompt reply, out of the heart of the crowd; and in a moment the active, thick-set form appeared, bareheaded as usual, for I had never known Nicole to cover his black shock with cap or hat.