cannot take _your_ money, Marguerite,' said Pierre. `At leastonly as a loan.'
"`And also,' began Edmee, and then she hesitated.
"`I know,' said the girl; `it is what the Countess said. She wouldrather have starved than take money from me, because she thought it illcome by. But this you can take without scruple.' She turned slightlyaside, so that only Pierre and Edmee could hear her. `The Hotel deSarinet was sacked last week; yesterday they threw me for my share someof _his_ mother's jewels. I sold some; the rest I will pack among yourthings. _I_ would not touch them. Now,' she went on, `this is all Ican do. You must now trust to your own sense and courage. It is only_he_,' and she nodded towards Edmond, standing apart, `who may get youinto trouble, as he nearly did to-night, mistrusting me for havingbrought you there--the safest place for you this evening, because thelast they would have looked for you in! Now farewell.'
"`Farewell, Marguerite, and God bless you!' said Pierre and Edmeetogether, and the latter added, `If you would but have come with us, asmy mother begged you.'
"But Marguerite shook her head.
"`There will always be a home for you at Valmont,' added Edmee, `and wewill always pray for you, dear Marguerite.'
"`Ah,' said the poor girl, `you may do that. Your prayers may be heard;_mine_ have never been answered.'
"And with these words she turned away, and was lost to sight.
"At first all happened as their protectress had said. The sergeant atthe gates let them pass with some rough good-natured words loudlyspoken, as if he never supposed them to be other than their papers andPierre's explanation represented them to be--two peasant lads and theirsister making their way back to their friends in the country, as many ofthe better class poor, getting shocked at the state of things in Paris,were glad to do at that time. And after directing them toChoisy-le-roi, a second thought seemed to strike him. `I can do morethan that,' he said. `Here Jean, Choisy is your road. Show theselittle citizens the way,' and up started a man, young or old they couldnot tell, for they never saw his face, which seemed muffled up, nor didhe speak all the way. And they never knew who he was, nor for whatmotive he had rendered them this service.
"At Choisy-le-roi they spent the night with the old woman who seemed tobe expecting them. Before daybreak they were some miles further ontheir way to Bretigny, the first stage, one might say, on the road home,driven in a cart by a boy, the grandson of the old woman, and accustomedto take her eggs into Paris for the market. Some days of pretty steadytravelling followed; the weather was fine, fortunately, for had it notbeen so, the poor children were but scantily protected; and Edmond keptup better than they could have hoped. Edmee herself, during those firstdays, was scarcely conscious of fatigue, or even of anxiety. She feltas if in a dream, and constantly expected to wake and find herself againin the wretched lodgings, beside her mother. The thought of thatmother, of the terrible parting from all that was left of her, possessedher to such an extent, that for herself she would have felt no fear,hardly emotion of any kind had they been seized and carried back toParis. Pierre was sometimes frightened by her very quietness; it wasunlike her to be so dreamy and silent, even in sorrow, and more thanonce he endeavoured to rouse her by reminding her that she must not letherself fall ill. `We are obeying the dear Countess,' he said. `Herlast thought was for you--the only comfort of those last moments was thebelief that you would yet be safe at Valmont.'
"`I know it was so,' said Edmee. `Yes, Pierre, my kind Pierrot, you areright. I will try to wish what she did.'
"But before they had reached the longed-for end of their journey, dangercame so near them that all the girl's faculties were roused, and,terrible as it was, she has sometimes said to me that she thought thisvery experience saved her from falling into a sort of half-stupid,almost idiotic state, from which she might never have recovered. Fortill now, there had been nothing to make them realise along what aprecipice-brink they were moving. Once out of Paris, both Edmee and hercousin had imagined themselves safe, and the girl had yielded to heroverpowering sorrow, the boy to his grief, not less sincere, but lessunselfish than hers. But for wide-awake, practical Pierre what wouldhave become of them?
"It happened thus: it was, as Marguerite had foreseen, the fault ofEdmond.
"One evening--they had been travelling, sometimes on foot and sometimesin a cart or in one of the public coaches, running short distances--theywould not of course have ventured to take places right through to Tours,the nearest point to Valmont for the regular diligences--one eveningthey reached a village not very far from Sarinet. Pierre had judged itwise to skirt Sarinet, both because Edmond might have been recognised,and also out of pity for the boy, to spare his feelings as much aspossible, and as they were now in a part of the country he thoroughlyknew, he found it easy to make their way round at what he thought a safedistance. But they had had a long day's walk before they arrived wearyand foot-sore at a village where Pierre had decided to spend the night.There was a small inn in the village--a while ago Pierre would have beenhorrified at the idea of Edmee's entering such a place, but he had grownused to the necessity of such things, and the young girl never by wordor glance murmured or seemed to notice the roughness and coarseness towhich she was for the first time exposed. Pierre bespoke a bed for his`sister,' and a corner of the barn for himself and Edmond, and then theysat down in the rude kitchen to such a supper as could be provided forthem. There were one or two peasants drinking in a corner, but quietlyenough, when suddenly the door was pushed roughly open, and a couple ofmen in blouses came noisily in, shouting for something to drink. Theinnkeeper's wife, a timid, civil woman, hurried forward, but before shehad time to serve the new-comers, one of them came up to the fire-place,near where the three young strangers were seated, and kicked the burninglogs with his foot. Some embers flew out, and a spark or two lighted onEdmee's dress, though she at once extinguished it. But up startedEdmond.
"`Mind what you're about, fellow!' he cried, with the true Sarinet tone.
"The offender turned round and eyed him curiously, but without speakinga word. Then he kicked the logs again till more sparks flew out in alldirections. Edmond was springing to his feet, but Pierre held himforcibly back. `Are you mad--quite mad?' he whispered in a low, sternvoice, while Edmee clasped his hand under the table with her tremblingones. The boy seemed startled into submission, and Pierre, rising fromhis seat, went forward to the fire.
"`If you don't object, citizen,' he said good-humouredly, `I think I canmake it burn better without scorching your feet or my sister's dress,'and he skilfully turned and arranged the logs till a bright glowrewarded him.
"The man eyed Pierre with curiosity.
"`You are a handy fellow, and a civil one,' he said; `how come you incompany with such a young insolent as that one yonder?' and he jerkedhis thumb towards Edmond.
"Pierre laughed, though his heart was beating so fast that he fancied itmust be heard. But for knowing that Edmee was holding her cousin tight,he dared not have risked that laugh or his words.
"`A spoilt child,' he said lightly. `He was brought up in Paris; I andour sister in the country. Now we are on our way to Tours, and mybrother is tired. We have had a long tramp. You must excuse him,citizen.'
"In his turn the man laughed, but the laugh had not a pleasant sound.
"`He is not worth chastising; it is easy to see _he_ is notcountry-bred,' he said. But Pierre, watching, saw him shoot anexpressive glance over to his companion, who was sitting still and hadtaken no part in the discussion. And Pierre's heart stood still withhorror, for to him the glance spoke terrible things.
"`And but for Edmond,' he reflected, `we might have passed unnoticed.Marguerite was right. Oh, my dear lady, I would have died for you andEdmee, but it will be too hard to have her sacrificed for him!'"
CHAPTER TWELVE.
"A few minutes later the two men went away. They paid for the wine theyhad drunk, but said nothing. Pierre breathed more freely when they weregone, and as both he and
his two charges were very tired, they soonafter went to bed: that is to say, Edmee went to the room prepared forher, and the boys made the best of their corner of the barn. It was atumble-down old place, and there were several other out-buildingsadjoining it; a disused stable was at one end, separated from it only bya wall which ran up as a partition, though leaving a space between itstop and the roof. This Pierre happened to notice before he lay down.He was asleep in five minutes, but after some time, how long he knewnot, he awoke with a start, something had wakened him, though he couldnot remember what. He lay perfectly still, and in a moment a sound fromthe other side of the partition wall, of which I have spoken, caught hisears. It was that of men's voices, though speaking so softly
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