Auguste heard the soft clip-clop of a horse's hooves and the creak of carriage wheels and raised a hand to alert the others. Putting a finger to her lips, Nancy went to the door. She opened it a crack, then pulled it wider and went out. "Who is it?" Hale called anxiously. His heart pounding, Auguste was on his feet, looking for a weapon or for a place to hide. No answer came from Nancy, but a moment later she came back, one arm around another woman's shoulders, supporting her. A blue kerchief covered the woman's head. "Who is this?" Hale said again. "Bon soir, Reverend Hale. Forgive me for disturbing you." It was a moment before Auguste recognized the battered, swollen face of Marchette. One of her eyes had been blackened this morning, but now there were ugly bruises around both eyes, her whole face was swollen and her lips were cut and puffed. Heartbroken at the sight of her, Auguste rushed to the cook and took her hands in his. "Marchette! What happened to you?" "I cried very much when you and Monsieur Elysee were hurt today, Monsieur Auguste. Armand did not like this, and he beat me. It _looks_ very bad, but he did not beat me hard, Monsieur. Whoever Armand beats hard, dies. But I resolved to do something for you. Monsieur Raoul, he had barrels of Kaintuck whiskey carted up to the chateau. Many guests and servants got very drunk. After a while Armand was lying on the floor beside the table, so then I went to fetch your things. Your trunk was unlocked, and I gathered up your clothes and books and put them in it and locked it. I had Bernadette Bosquet, the fiddler's wife, she is my friend, help carry your trunk down to the carriage." Auguste felt as if a sudden bright light had flooded his room. His medicine bundle had been in the trunk. And his surgical instruments. They were safe. He jumped up from the table. A throb of pain went through his head, and he felt dizzy and had to cling to the table for support. Marchette's eyes widened in alarm, and she put her hands out to him. Recovered after a moment--and feeling much better now than he had a few hours ago--he took Marchette's hands in his. "I can't tell you how much this means to me, Marchette. There were things in my trunk--sacred things--very important to me. Very precious. I thank you a thousand times." Her swollen lips parted in a half smile. She reached into a pocket in her apron and brought out a large pocket watch gleaming a dull gold. Then she took out a familiar oval silver case with a velvet ribbon. "These were your father's, monsieur. I believe he would wish that you have them." Auguste opened the case and saw the round lenses for only a moment as his eyes blurred. He put his hand over his face and held it there until he no longer felt like weeping. Then he looked at the engraving on the watch--"Pierre Louis Auguste de Marion, A.D. 1800"--and his eyes filled up with tears. This, he thought, should go into his medicine bundle with the other sacred objects.