It came at last. The morning was spent in packing up such things as they had managed to procure, during their stay at the farm; and soon after nightfall Poignot’s elder son began carrying them away. “Everything is at the Borderie,” said the honest fellow, on returning from his last trip, “and Mademoiselle Lacheneur bids the baron bring a good appetite.” “I shall have one, never fear!” responded M. d’Escorval gaily. “We shall all have one.” Father Poignot himself was busy harnessing his best horse to the cart which was to convey the baron to his new home. The worthy man felt sad as he thought that these guests, for whose sake he had incurred such danger, were now going to leave him. He felt he should acutely miss them, that the house would seem gloomy and deserted after they had left. He would allow no one else to arrange the mattress intended for M. d’Escorval comfortably in the cart; and when he had done this to his satisfaction, he murmured, with a sigh, “It’s time to start!” and turned to climb the narrow staircase leading to the loft. M. d’Escorval with a patient’s natural egotism had not thought of the parting. But when he saw the honest farmer, coming to bid him good-bye, with signs of deep emotion on his face, he forgot all the comforts that awaited him at the Borderie, in the remembrance of the royal and courageous hospitality he had received in the house he was about to leave. The tears sprang to his eyes. “You have rendered me a service which nothing can repay, Father Poignot,” he said, with intense feeling. “You have saved my life.” “Oh! we won’t talk of that, baron. In my place, you would have done the same--neither more nor less.” “I shall not attempt to express my thanks, but I hope to live long enough to show my gratitude.” The staircase was so narrow that they had considerable difficulty in carrying the baron down; but finally they had him stretched comfortably on his mattress in the cart; a few handfuls of straw being scattered over his limbs so as to hide him from the gaze of any inquisitive passers-by. The latter was scarcely to be expected it is true, for it was now fully eleven o’clock at night. Parting greetings were exchanged, and then the cart which young Poignot drove with the utmost caution started slowly on its way.