es later reappeared with a small
litter, a thin mattress, and a coverlid. He had thought of everything.

The wounded man was lifted carefully and placed upon the mattress.

A long and difficult operation which, in spite of extreme caution, drew
many terrible groans from the baron.

When all was ready, each officer took an end of the litter, and the
little procession, headed by the abbe, started on its way. They were
obliged to proceed slowly on account of the suffering which the least
jolting inflicted upon the baron. 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.

The priest did not seem to trouble himself in regard to these
encounters; at least, he made no attempt to avoid them.

But he did seem anxious and cautious when, after a three hours' march,
they came in sight of Poignot's cottage.

Fortunately there was a little grove not far from the house. The abbe
made the party enter it, recommending the strictest prudence, while
he went on in advance to confer with this man, upon whose decision the
safety of the whole party depended.

As the priest approached the house, a small, thin man, with gray hair
and a sunburned face emerged from the stable.

It was Father Poignot.

"What! is this you, Monsieur le Cure!" he exclaimed, delightedly.
"Heavens! how pleased my wife will be. We have a great favor to ask of
you----"

And then, without giving the abbe an opportunity to open his lips, he
began to tell him his perplexities. The night of the revolt he had given
shelter to a poor man who had received an ugly sword-thrust. Neither his
wife nor himself knew how to dress the wound, and he dared not call in a
physician.

"And this wounded man," he added, "is Jean Lacheneur, the son of my
former employer." A terrible anxiety seized the priest's heart.

Would this man, who had already given an asylum to one wounded
conspirator, consent to receive another?

The abbe's voice trembled as he made known his petition.

The farmer turned very pale and shook his head gravely, while the priest
was speaking. When the abbe had finished:

"Do you know, sir," he asked, coldly, "that I incur a great risk by
converting my house into a hospi