tal for these rebels?"

The abbe dared not answer.

"They told me," Father Poignot continued, "that I was a coward, because
_I_ would not take part in the revolt. Such was not my opinion. Now I
choose to shelter these wounded men--I shelter them. In my opinion, it
requires quite as much courage as it does to go and fight."

"Ah! you are a brave man!" cried the abbe.

"I know that very well! Bring Monsieur d'Escorval. There is no one here
but my wife and boys--no one will betray him!"

A half hour later the baron was lying in a small loft, where Jean
Lacheneur was already installed.

From the window, Abbe Midon and Mme. d'Escorval watched the little
_cortege_, organized for the purpose of deceiving the Duc de Sairmeuse's
spies, as it moved rapidly away.

Corporal Bavois, with his head bound up with bloodstained linen, had
taken the baron's place upon the litter.

This was one of the troubled epochs in history that try men's souls.
There is no chance for hypocrisy; each man stands revealed in his
grandeur, or in his pettiness of soul.

Certainly much cowardice was displayed during the early days of the
second Restoration; but many deeds of sublime courage and devotion were
performed.

These officers who befriended Mme. d'Escorval and Maurice--who lent
their aid to the abbe--knew the baron only by name and reputation.

It was sufficient for them to know that he was the friend of their
former ruler--the man whom they had made their idol, and they rejoiced
with all their hearts when they saw M. d'Escorval reposing under Father
Poignot's roof in comparative security.

After this, their task, which consisted in misleading the government
emissaries, seemed to them mere child's play.

But all these precautions were unnecessary. Public sentiment had
declared itself in an unmistakable manner, and it was evident that
Lacheneur's hopes had not been without some foundation.

The police discovered nothing, not so much as a single detail of the
escape. They did not even hear of the little party that had travelled
nearly three leagues in the full light of day, bearing a wounded man
upon a litter.

Among the two thousand peasants who believed that this wounded man was
Baron d'Escorval, there was not one who turned informer or let drop an
indiscreet word.

But on approaching the frontier, which they knew to be strictly guarded,
the fugitives became even more cautious.

They waited until nightfall before presenting th