“Powers of mercy! what an accident!” exclaimed Hugues, his countenance reflecting the horror depicted on the faces of all around. “The Constable de Bourbon will be burnt to death!”
“No, no, he won't,” cried Warthy, who remained perfectly calm, even at this exciting moment. “But he will be forced out of his hiding-place.”
On this he quitted the house with his men, leaving a guard outside the door.
No sooner was he gone than Hugues went up to the miller, who looked almost stupified, and clapping him on the shoulder, said, with a grin, “I set the mill on fire, père Benoit.”
“You did!” exclaimed the miller; “a nice piece of work you've done. And you make a joke of it, rascal—you laugh.”
“Laugh! to be sure. And so will you, père Benoit, when you know why I set it on fire.”
“Mother of Heaven! how it burns!” exclaimed Margot, as the glare momentarily increased in brilliancy, and the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the timber could be distinctly heard.
“My poor old mill!” cried Benoit, in a despairing voice. “I shall never behold it again!”
“Cheer up, father,” said Madelon. “I told Hugues to set fire to it—indeed, I helped him.”
“What! you have assisted to make me a beggar, and then bid me cheer up!” cried the miller.