"Message? There is no message," said Pamphile, with a leer. "That was understood, was it not? It was only to say good-bye." "No message?" "No. That is to say, yes. A moment, Mademoiselle. Come back, for the love of God. It is here, the message, the letter. Allow me to hand it to you. It will explain everything. There, I have you, little bird. Do not wriggle so. A kiss. One only. No? Then I take it--thus and thus. Ah! _Sacrée diable de femme_! _Sacré_!" Pamphile’s note of triumph ended in a scream of rage and pain, for Gabrielle, wrenching herself free from his grasp, turned on him with flaming face and blazing eyes, and with the raw hide whip struck him twice across the face. Immediately she fled up the path, calling loudly for help. "Jean! Jean! To me! To me! Ah, _Mon Dieu_! Jean! Jean!" With sublime faith in the hour of danger Gabrielle was demanding a miracle; and lo! her cry was answered, for it was Jean himself who came running down the path in time to catch her in his arms as she was on the point of falling to the ground. "Gabrielle, what is it? What is the matter, dear? Ah, I see. The whip--give it to me. So it is you--thief, dog! Stand there! A fine face you have. There, take that--and that! Shoot, would you? Drop it! Good. Take two more! There! And there! It is a wonder I do not kill you. Go!" Pamphile slunk away like a whipped cur, but with murder in his heart. Jean watched him until he disappeared in the forest, and then turned slowly, as one in pain. "Gabrielle!" But Gabrielle was gone. *CHAPTER XVI* *THE TEMPTATION OF JEAN BAPTISTE* "Jean! Jean! To me! To me!" The cry seemed but an echo in the recesses of the woods, yet Jean could not rid himself of the feeling that Gabrielle was still in danger and in need of help. The same vague sense of danger had come to him a little while before, as he stood on the doorstep of his house, smoking his pipe, watching the sunrise, and planning the day’s work, and had brought him running along the road to the Taché place and thence down the woodland path to meet her whom he loved best and him whom he most hated. They had met; the danger was past; and now it seemed to Jean that he was totally indifferent to Pamphile and that he hated Gabrielle more than any other being in all the world. Answer her cry for help? Never again! "Jean! Jean!"