‘Clon? What of him?’ she muttered.
‘In the village!’ Louis panted, his tongue stuttering with terror. ‘They are flogging him. They are killing him! To make him tell!’
Mademoiselle grasped the sundial and leant against it, her face colourless; and, for an instant, I thought that she was fainting.
‘Tell?’ I said mechanically. ‘But he cannot tell. He is dumb, man.’
‘They will make him guide them,’ Louis groaned, covering his ears with his shaking hands, his face the colour of paper. ‘And his cries! Oh, Monsieur, go, go!’ he continued, in a thrilling tone. ‘Save him. All through tie wood I heard his cries. It was horrible! horrible!’
Mademoiselle uttered a moan of pain; and I turned to support her, thinking each second to see her fall. But with a sudden movement she straightened herself, and, quickly slipping by me, with eyes that seemed to see nothing, she set off swiftly down the walk towards the meadow gate.
I ran after her; but, taken by surprise as I was, it was only by a great effort I reached the gate before her, and thrusting myself in the road, barred the way.
‘Let me pass!’ she panted, striving to thrust me on one side. ‘Out of my way, sir! I am going to the village.’
‘You are not going to the village,’ I said sternly. ‘Go back; to the house, Mademoiselle, and at once.’
‘My servant!’ she wailed. ‘Let me go! Let me go! Do you think I can rest here while they torture him? He cannot speak, and they—they—’