“Farewell, Marcelline,” he said. “We shall meet again.”
“I trust so,” she replied.
Bourbon did not attempt to mount till Pomperant was in the saddle, but as soon as his supposed master had ridden off, he followed with Hugues.
Often and often did Pomperant turn to gaze at Marcelline, till her figure was lost in the distance.
XIV. THE MILL AT SAINT-SIMPHORIEN.
Compelled to avoid the public roads, the fugitives, on reaching the valley, traversed an extensive marshy plain, which would have been impassable without a guide, forded the Loire about half a league above Montrond, and after a toilsome journey through a wild and mountainous district, drew near Saint-Simphorien about an hour before midnight. As they could not put up at an auberge, Hugues proposed that they should seek a lodging at a mill which he pointed out on an eminence a short distance from the road.
“I think Maître Benoit, the miller, will take us in,” he said. “He is kind-hearted and hospitable, and his daughter Madelon is the prettiest girl in Saint-Simphorien, and as good as she is pretty.”
“You know her?” said Bourbon.