Jeanette comprehended every thing; but the feelings of the good creature’s heart were at this time surging up against her understanding with greater and greater force every minute. At length, when all was ready for our departure, she fell upon her knees at good Father Bonneville’s feet, weeping and kissing his hand, and begging his blessing. The old man put his hand upon her head, and with an air of solemn affection, called down the blessing of God upon her. Then embracing her kindly, he said, “You have striven, I know, Jeanette, to be as good a servant to God as to a mere mortal master. He deserves more and better service than any of us can give, but he is contented with less than any of us require, if it be rendered with a whole heart. Farewell, my Jeanette—farewell for the present! We shall meet again soon—I trust—I believe.”
The good Father took one of the saddle-bags, and I took the other; Jeanette loading me, moreover, with a large paper parcel of which she bade me take great care, hinting at the same time that it contained sustenance for the good Father and myself which might be very needful to us on our first night’s journey. She followed us in tears through the garden in the tower, and down the stairs to the foot. There she hugged and kissed me heartily, but she had no power to speak, and by this time, all the pleasant fancies in regard to setting out to see new scenes, and to find new enjoyments, which I had entertained for a moment or two, had passed away, and nothing remained but sorrow and regret. We made our way, not without difficulty, down the little path to the valley; for the night was as black as crime, and then walked on along the road by the stream, which, however, we were obliged to quit soon, in order to avoid a party of men who had a sort of guard-house where the two roads met. This was easily done, however. The river was not very full; for the air was frosty, but dry, and neither snow nor rain had fallen for two or three days. Some large stones served us as well as a bridge, and crossing the meadows on the other side, we reached the high road from the town toward Paris without going through the suburbs. About a quarter of a mile farther upon this road, we found an elderly man standing with two horses; and although I could hardly see his face, I recognized in him an uncle of good Jeanette, who was accustomed every fortnight to bring poultry to the house, and who, to say the truth, looked a good deal younger than his niece. Few words passed between him and us; the saddle-bags were arranged on the horses’ backs nearly in silence. Father Bonneville mounted one, and the good farmer helped me to mount the other. I had never been upon a horse’s back in my life before, and the animal upon which I was perched, though somewhat less than that which carried Father Bonneville, seemed to me a perfect elephant. I was awkward enough, and uncomfortable enough, no doubt, at first, but I soon got accustomed to my position, and took rather a pleasure in the ride than not, till we had gone some eight or nine miles, when I began to feel the usual inconveniences to which young horsemen are subject.
A good deal of apprehension was entertained both by my reverend companion and myself, lest our flight should be discovered, and immediate pursuit take place. But we found afterward that such fears were quite vain, the minds of the people of the town, especially of the anarchists, were turned by various events in a direction quite different from Father Bonneville. They had their mayor to guillotine, and two or three of the principal inhabitants to throw into prison, which occupied them satisfactorily for several days. Father Bonneville’s absence was never noticed by any but his own immediate parishioners, who wisely forbore to talk about it till Jeanette, with a bold policy which did her credit, judging that our escape had been safely effected, went up to the municipality, and begged to know what she was to do, as her master had gone away several days before, and had not returned.
In the meanwhile we rode on through that live-long night, neither directing our course straight toward Paris, nor to the sea-side. When morning dawned I was terribly tired and sleepy, and saw all sorts of unreal things in the twilight—the mere effect, I suppose, of exhaustion. Father Bonneville had talked to me from time to time, giving me directions for my general conduct and demeanor toward himself. I found that it was his intention to assume the name of Charlier, and that I was to pass for his nephew, still retaining the name of Lacy, deprived of its aristocratic prefix of dé. The name, however, soon got corrupted by the people of the inns as we went along, and I passed as young citoyen Lassi throughout the whole of the rest of our long journey.
At daylight, after the first night’s march, we halted on a piece of uncultivated ground at the side of a wood, and suffering our horses to crop the grass, of which they stood in some need, we seated ourselves on a dry bank under the trees, and made free with the food which good Jeanette had provided for us. After I had satisfied my keen appetite, and drunk some wine out of a flask, I fell into a sound sleep before I was at all aware what was coming upon me, nor did I wake till Father Bonneville shook me gently by the arm, at about one o’clock in the day.
We then resumed our journey, having to take the first very dangerous step after quitting the town, in entering the busy haunts of men, and exposing ourselves to the eyes and inquiries of strangers.
A tall church-tower was soon seen rising before us, at a considerable distance, and Father Bonneville took the opportunity of a peasant woman, passing us on the road, to ascertain the name of the town to which the church belonged. This gave him the key to his topography, which he had lost during the night, and as the town was still full fifteen miles distant, he determined to stop at any village he found a few miles ere we reached it, in order to avoid the stricter examination which was likely to be enforced in a city. Upon calculating as nearly as our knowledge of the country enabled us to do, we found that we had made five-and-thirty miles during the night, and ten or twelve miles more would put what might be considered a sufficient distance for the time between ourselves and our enemies. We jogged on quietly then, encountering a good number of the peasantry who were returning from market or fair. For a part of the way we rode by the side of an old man who was journeying in the same direction with ourselves. He had a shrewd, thoughtful, but quiet eye, and a bland, easy smile, which perhaps might have made a man well versed in the world doubt his perfect sincerity, notwithstanding his tall, broad forehead, and a certain dignity of air that did not bespeak low cunning. He addressed good Father Bonneville at once as “Monsieur L’abbé,” but looked at him several times before he said more.
At first my old companion did not seem to notice the epithet he bestowed upon him, but after a few more words had passed, he inquired somewhat abruptly, “What made you call me ‘Abbé,’ citizen?”
“Your dress,” replied the countryman, “your manner, and your look. The aristocrat is proud, because he has always commanded, and thinks he has a right to command. The peasant is vain, because God has implanted in every French breast the notion that each man is equal to his neighbor, whether he be a fool or a wise man, a scholar or a dunce, a brave man or a poltroon, a good man or a knave. But the teacher of religion has a different look. He has been accustomed to guide and to exhort, and he knows that it is not only his right but his duty so to do. There is, therefore, in him a look of confidence and authority, very different from the haughtiness of the one or the vanity of the other I have mentioned.”
“You must have thought and studied more than might have been expected,” said Father Bonneville, examining him closely.