Don't be alarmed, mademoiselle," Duchemin soothed her. "He will come
round presently, he will do splendidly now till we get him to bed; and
then his convalescence will be merely the matter of a while of rest."

He slipped his arms beneath the unconscious man, gathered him up bodily
and bore him to the carriage--and, thanks to man's amusing amour
propre, made far less of the effort than it cost him. Then, with
d'Aubrac disposed as comfortably as might be on the back seat, once
again pillowed in a fashion to make any man envious, Duchemin turned to
find the other women at his elbow. To the eldest he offered a bow
suited to her condition and a hand to help her into the barouche.

"Madame ..."

Her agitation had measurably subsided. The gentle inclination of the
aged head which acknowledged his courtesy was as eloquent of her
quality as he found the name which she gave him in quavering accents.

"Madame de Sevenie, monsieur."

"With madame's permission: I am Andre Duchemin."

"Monsieur Duchemin has placed us all deeply in his debt. Louise ..."
The girl in the carriage looked up and bowed, murmuring. "Mademoiselle
de Montalais, monsieur: my granddaughter. And Eve ..." She turned to
the third, to her whose voice of delightful accent was not in
Duchemin's notion wholly French: "Madame de Montalais, my daughter by
adoption, widow of my grandson, who died gloriously for his country at
La Fere-Champenoise."

IV

EVE

When she had graciously permitted Duchemin to assist her to a place in
the carriage, Madame Sevenie turned immediately to comfort her
granddaughter. It was easy to divine an attachment there, between
d'Aubrac and Louise de Montalais; Duchemin fancied (and, as it turned
out, rightly) the two were betrothed.

But Madame de Montalais was claiming his attention.

"Monsieur thinks--?" she enquired in a guarded tone, taking advantage
of the diversion provided by the elder lady to delay a little before
entering the barouche.

"Monsieur d'Aubrac is in no immediate danger. Still, the services of a
good surgeon, as soon as may be ..."

"Will it be dangerous to wait till we get to Nant?"

"How far is that, madame?"

"Twelve miles."

Duchemin looked aside at the decrepit conveyance with its unhappy
horses, and summed up a conclusion in a shrug.

"Millau is nearer, is it not, madame?"

"But Nant is not far from the Chateau de Montalais; and at La
Roque-Sainte-Marguerite our automobile is waiting, l