Aristandre followed him, and was to return to the marquis as soon as he had escorted the child back to the château. The night, like the preceding one, was decidedly mild for the season. The sky, sometimes overcast, sometimes swept clear by gusts of warm air, was very dark when the young horseman and his attendant galloped into the ravine and rode under the venerable trees of the village. As they rapidly ascended one of the narrow undulating roads, lined with hedges, which served the purposes of streets between the thirty or forty _firesides_ of which the village consisted, Mario's horse, which was leading, shied and snorted with terror. "What is that?" said the child, sitting like a rock in his saddle. "A drunken man asleep in the road? Pick him up, Aristandre, and take him to his family." "Monsieur le comte," replied the coachman, who had instantly dismounted, "if he is drunk, you might say he is dead drunk, for he doesn't move any more than a stone." "Shall I help you?" said the child, dismounting. He went nearer and tried to distinguish the features of the man, who answered none of Aristandre's questions. "He may belong hereabout," said the coachman with his accustomed stolidity; "I don't know him; but what I do know is that he is dead or the next thing to it." "Dead!" cried the child; "right here, in the middle of the village! and no one thinks of helping him!" He ran to the nearest house and found it empty; the fire was burning brightly, and the tea-kettle, abandoned to its fate, was sputtering in the ashes; the settle was upset across the room. Mario called in vain, no one answered. He was about to run to another house, for they were separated from one another by large enclosures thickly planted with trees, when the report of firearms and strange rumbling noises, drowning the clatter of his horse's hoofs on the stones, made him jump and abruptly draw rein. "Do you hear, monsieur le comte?" cried Aristandre, who had carried the body to the side of the road, and had remounted to join his young master; "that comes from the château, and there's something strange going on there, for sure!" "Let us hurry!" said Mario, urging his steed to a gallop. "If it's a fête, they are making a great noise over it!" "Wait! wait!" cried the coachman, doubling his speed to stop Mario's horse; "that is no fête! There wouldn't be a fête at the château without you and monsieur le marquis. They are fighting! Do you hear how they are yelling and cursing? And see, there's another dead man, or a horribly wounded Christian, at the foot of the wall! Fly, monsieur; hide, for the love of God! I will go to see what the matter is, and come back and tell you." "You are laughing at me!" cried Mario, tearing himself free; "hide, when they are attacking my father's château? What about my Lauriane? let us hasten to her defence!" He galloped across the drawbridge, which was lowered, a most extraordinary circumstance after nightfall.