Elise sat down for a moment on an upturned basket to collect herself. Her first thought was to go to Maillot's in search of them. They might be there, yet it would take an hour to go to Maillot's and return. And then what if Louchet and Paul were not there! What if the couple had been murdered and the bodies were still on the farm? Elise shuddered at the thought, and called loud again, "Paul, Paul, my brother, art thou not here?"
From the hay in the loft above came a smothered sound. With a glad cry Elise sprang up the stairs, to see Père Louchet's head and shoulders emerging from under a pile of clover.
"Where is Paul?" cried Elise, pouncing upon him before he had freed himself from the hay, and almost dragging him to his feet. He blinked at her for a moment while he picked the stray wisps of straw from his hair and neck.
"Gone," he said laconically.
"Gone! Where?" cried Elise, frantically taking him by the shoulders and shaking him so that the hayseed and straw flew from his coat. "Père Louchet, what is the matter? I never saw you like this before; have you been drinking?"
"No," he said slowly, and then as if the thought occurred to him for the first time, he went toward a cask of cherry brandy which stood in a corner of the granary and drew almost a tin-cupful.
With blazing eyes Elise saw him measure out the liquor slowly, with a hand that trembled slightly, and put the cup to his lips. She felt as if she must spring upon him and dash the cup from his hands, but she controlled herself with an effort. Louchet drained off the brandy to the last drop, straightened up, and looked at Elise. He acted like a different man.
"Paul was taken from here about an hour ago by three men. They had papers and red seals and tricolor cockades enough to take a dozen."
"And you let them take him?" cried Elise.
Père Louchet looked at his niece quizzically with his twinkling eye.