When all was ready, each officer took an end of the litter, and the little procession, headed by the abbe, started on its way. They were obliged to proceed slowly on account of the suffering which the least jolting inflicted upon the baron. Still they made some progress, and by daybreak they were about half way to Poignot’s house. It was then that they met some peasants going to their daily toil. Both men and women paused to look at them, and when the little _cortege_ had passed they still stood gazing curiously after these people who were apparently carrying a dead body. The priest did not seem to trouble himself in regard to these encounters; at least, he made no attempt to avoid them. But he did seem anxious and cautious when, after a three hours’ march, they came in sight of Poignot’s cottage. Fortunately there was a little grove not far from the house. The abbe made the party enter it, recommending the strictest prudence, while he went on in advance to confer with this man, upon whose decision the safety of the whole party depended. As the priest approached the house, a small, thin man, with gray hair and a sunburned face emerged from the stable. It was Father Poignot. “What! is this you, Monsieur le Cure!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Heavens! how pleased my wife will be. We have a great favor to ask of you----” And then, without giving the abbe an opportunity to open his lips, he began to tell him his perplexities. The night of the revolt he had given shelter to a poor man who had received an ugly sword-thrust. Neither his wife nor himself knew how to dress the wound, and he dared not call in a physician. “And this wounded man,” he added, “is Jean Lacheneur, the son of my former employer.” A terrible anxiety seized the priest’s heart. Would this man, who had already given an asylum to one wounded conspirator, consent to receive another? The abbe’s voice trembled as he made known his petition. The farmer turned very pale and shook his head gravely, while the priest was speaking. When the abbe had finished: “Do you know, sir,” he asked, coldly, “that I incur a great risk by converting my house into a hospital for these rebels?” The abbe dared not answer. “They told me,” Father Poignot continued, “that I was a coward, because _I_ would not take part in the revolt. Such was not my opinion. Now I choose to shelter these wounded men--I shelter them. In my opinion, it requires quite as much courage as it does to go and fight.” “Ah! you are a brave man!” cried the abbe. “I know that very well! Bring Monsieur d’Escorval. There is no one here but my wife and boys--no one will betray him!” A half hour later the baron was lying in a small loft, where Jean Lacheneur was already installed. From the window, Abbe Midon and Mme. d’Escorval watched the little _cortege_, organized for the purpose of deceiving the Duc de Sairmeuse’s spies, as it moved rapidly away.