"He is some spy of the Imperialists," said the viscount, putting his hand upon his pistols. A stern and menacing glance from the monk replied to the accusation.
"Well, sir," said De Guiche, "will you answer?"
"I am a priest," replied the young man, his face resuming its former calm inexpressiveness.
"Then, holy father," said Raoul, letting his pistol fall back into the holster, and giving a tone of respect to his words, "since you are a priest, you have now an opportunity of exercising your sacred functions. A man wounded to death is at the little inn which you will soon find upon your road, and he implores the assistance of one of God's ministers."
"I will go to him," said the monk calmly, setting his mule in motion.
"If you do not, sir," said De Guiche, "remember that our horses will soon overtake your mule, that we possess sufficient influence to have you seized wherever you go, and that then your trial will be very short. A tree and a rope are to be found every where."
The eyes of the monk emitted an angry spark, but he merely repeated the words, "I will go to him," and rode on.
"Let us follow," said De Guiche; "it will be the surest plan."
"I was about to propose it," said Raoul. And the young men followed the monk at pistol-shot distance.
On arriving in sight of the roadside tavern, they saw their servants approaching it from the opposite direction, leading their horses, and carrying the wounded man. On perceiving the monk, an expression of joy illuminated the countenance of the sufferer.