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Dolores had seated herself upon a bench that stood against the wall. The passion of weeping to which she had yielded after Coursegol's heroic deed, had calmed her.
"Is she recovering?" asked the Marquis, who stood by, watching Coursegol's efforts. "I do not know; but see, sir, it seemed to me that she moved." The Marquis came nearer. As he did so Tiepoletta opened her eyes. She looked anxiously about her, then faintly murmured a few words in a strange tongue. "She speaks," said the Marquis, "but what does she say? She seems frightened and distressed."
Thanks to his exertions, she could breathe once more; but, chancing to look down upon the ground, she uttered an exclamation of consternation. "Blood! It is blood!" she exclaimed, in horror. Coursegol's eyes followed hers. She was not mistaken. She was standing in a pool of blood, and not far off lay a body that the crowd had trampled upon only a few moments before.
"Some of them advanced last night as far as the Pont du Gard. There they sacked and burned the Château de Chamondrin!" A ghastly pallor overspread Coursegol's features; he uttered a cry of horror. "What is the matter?" asked the man who had just apprised him of this terrible calamity. "My masters! where are my masters?" cried poor Coursegol.
It was in this condition of mind that Dolores listened to Coursegol's description of the little house in the Chévreuse valley, in which they were to take refuge; but the vision of happiness conjured up by his words was rudely dispelled by a sudden commotion around her which recalled her to the grim reality of the dangers that still threatened her on every side.
"You shall judge," rejoined Vauquelas, not appearing in the least wounded by Coursegol's remark. "Last month the Republic passed a decree against the Émigrés, ordering the confiscation of their property for the benefit of the nation. This measure has been carried into execution, and the government is now the possessor of a large amount of such property.
Dolores, who was leaning upon Coursegol's shoulder, seemed to be entirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold, fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to a condition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her in this state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think of himself; he thought only of her.
He uttered a cry of joy, lifted Dolores in his strong arms, and, in a stentorian voice, exclaimed: "Make way! Make way, good citizens! My daughter has fainted!" The Provençale costume worn by Dolores deceived the persons who would otherwise have impeded Coursegol's progress. "He is from Marseilles," some one cried. Just at that time the Marseillais were heroes in the eyes of all good patriots.
At the same time the man who had just interrupted Coursegol's promenade took him by the arm and led him toward the garden. He was clad in black and enveloped in a large cloak that would have made him look like a priest had it not been for the high hat, ornamented with the national cockade, which proved him a patriot of the middle class.
She was sobbing violently, entirely overcome by this scene which had moved her much more deeply than her own misfortunes. "Forgive me, mademoiselle," said he, "for being so bold as to resolve not to survive you; but even in death, my place is beside you." "My friend! my protector! my father!" sobbed Dolores. And yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself into Coursegol's arms.
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