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Updated: May 15, 2025
"And this is the parish of St. Aubin?" said Santerre, as they drew near to Durbelliere. "Yes," said Denot, "this is the parish of St. Aubin; and the estate of the Larochejaquelins." "And they are popular with the people?" said Santerre. "They must have been well loved, or they would not have been so truly followed."
Durbelliere had not been in his parish, but he had always been peculiarly intimate with the family of the Larochejaquelins, and had warmly welcomed the return of Henri to the Bocage, at a time when so many of the nobility were leaving the country.
About ten days after the departure of the Larochejaquelins from Durbelliere, three persons were making the best of their way, on horseback, through one of the deepest and dirtiest of the byeways, which in those days, served the inhabitants of Poitou for roads, and along which the farmers of the country contrived with infinite pains and delay, to drag the produce of their fields to the market towns.
The wretched girls, therefore, prepared to make their way to the homes of their relatives, knowing that those homes would soon be turned into heaps of ashes. It was a bright warm autumn day this, the last which the Larochejaquelins were to pass together in the mansion in which they had all been born.
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