I released her hands. “Well,” I said, “I would have helped her and have cared for her, Georgette; but you will not let me.” She broke forth at once at that, her arms held out and her eyes swimming. “I will tell you, monseigneur--all that I know; and God forgive me if I do wrong!” “And me, Georgette, and wither me with His vengeance.” “I will tell you, monseigneur. That night--that night after the terror, she spent in the woods, and all the next day she hid there, moving towards Coutras. I would go often to the Château to take to M. de Lâge the money for our weekly bill of faggots, and--and for other reasons; and now she watched for me and waylaid me and told me all. Oh, m’sieu’! she was incensed--and it was not for me to judge; but M. de Lâge is a wise man, and perhaps there is a wisdom that makes too little account of the scruples of our sex.” “She would not return to him? Well!” “She would beg or starve sooner, she said; and she would begin by asking a little food of me. Oh, m’sieu’, but the sad proud demoiselle! My heart wept to hear her so humble to the peasant girl to whom she had been good and gracious always in the old days of peace.” “That is well. And where is she?” “I cannot tell you, m’sieu’. Ah, pardon! She but waited for the night, when I could bring her food--all that would keep and that she could carry--and then she started on foot for the mountains of Gatine.” “Now, _mon Dieu_! they must be twenty leagues away.” “Twenty-five, m’sieu’, by La Roche Chalais and Mareuil. But she would avoid the towns, and journey by way of the woods and the harsh desolate country. Mother of God! but it makes me weep to think of her white face and her tender feet in those frightful solitudes.” “It is madness!” “But indeed, m’sieu’. And, though the towns gather all to them and the country is depopulated, there may be savages still left here and there--swineherds, charcoal-burners, to whom that libertine Lacombe----” “Silence, girl! And you would have denied her a protector!” “She bound me to silence, m’sieu’, lest her uncle should send in pursuit.” “It is madness--it is madness. And what does she go to seek in the mountains?” “Ah! m’sieu’, I know not--unless it is some haven of rest where the footstep of man is never heard.” “Now, Georgette; will you meet me to-night where you met her, and bring me food--for which I will pay you--and point me out the way that Mademoiselle Carinne took at parting? I have a mind to journey to the mountains, also, and to go by the harsh country and to start in the dark. Will you, Georgette?” “Pray the good God,” she said, “that it is not all a _jeu de l’oie_”--and at that moment we heard De Lâge feebly mounting the stairway.