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"No." The abbe spoke in the tone of a man who, by virtue of assuming all the responsibility, feels that he has a right to be obeyed. "When the baron has been conveyed to Poignot's house," he continued, "one of you gentlemen will take the wounded man's place upon the litter; the others will carry him, and the party will remain together until it has reached Piedmontese territory.
Still they made some progress, and by daybreak they were about half way to Poignot's house. It was then that they met some peasants going to their daily toil. Both men and women paused to look at them, and when the little cortege had passed they still stood gazing curiously after these people who were apparently carrying a dead body.
About ten o'clock the baron fell asleep, and the abbe and Mme. d'Escorval went downstairs to talk with Marie-Anne. As they were sitting there Poignot's eldest son entered in a state of great excitement. After supper he had gone with some of his acquaintances to admire the splendors of the fete, and he now came rushing back to relate the strange events of the evening to his father's guests.
He remembered the sublime saying of Ambroise Pare: "I dress the wound: God heals it." After a six months' sojourn in Father Poignot's secluded farm-house, M. d'Escorval was able to sit up and to walk about a little, with the aid of crutches.
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