There were four of them, and the nearest to us was Father Benôit. The good priest fell on my neck and kissed me. "You are not hurt?" he cried. "No," I said dully. "You have come then?" "Yes," he said. "In time to save you, God be praised! God be praised! And Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle de St. Alais?" he added eagerly, looking at me as if he thought I was not quite in my senses. "Have you news of her?" I turned without a word, and went back into the room. He followed with a light, and the three men, of whom Buton was one, pressed in after him. They were rough peasants, but the sight made them give back, and uncover themselves. Mademoiselle lay where I had left her, her head pillowed on a dark carpet of hair; from the midst of which her child's face, composed and white as in death, looked up with solemn half-closed eyes to the ceiling. For myself, I stared down at her almost without emotion, so much had I gone through. But the priest cried out aloud. "_Mon Dieu!_" he said, with a sob in his voice. "Have they killed her?" "No," I answered. "She has only fainted. If there is a woman here----" "There is no woman here that I dare trust," he answered between his teeth. And he bade one of the men go and get some water, adding a few words which I did not hear. The man returned almost immediately, and Father Benôit, bidding him and his fellows stand back a little, moistened her lips with water, afterwards dashing some in her face; doing it with an air of haste that puzzled me until I noticed that the room was grown thick with smoke, and on going myself to the door saw the red glow of the fire at the end of the passage, and heard the distant crash of falling stones and timbers. Then I thought that I understood the men's attitude, and I suggested to Father Benôit that I should carry her out. "She will never recover here," I said, with a sob in my throat. "She will be suffocated if we do not get her into the air." A thick volume of smoke swept along the passage as I spoke, and gave point to my words. "Yes," the priest said slowly, "I think so, too, my son, but----" "But what?" I cried. "It is not safe to stay!" "You sent to Cahors?" "Yes," I answered. "Has M. le Marquis come?" "No; and you see, M. le Vicomte, I have only these four men," he explained. "Had I stayed to gather more I might have been too late. And with these only I do not know what to do. Half the poor wretches who have done this mischief are mad with drink. Others are strangers, and----" "But I thought--I thought that it was all over," I cried in astonishment. "No," he answered gravely. "They let us pass in after an altercation; I am of the Committee, and so is Buton there. But when they see you, and especially Mademoiselle de St. Alais--I do not know how they may act, my friend." "But, _mon Dieu!_" I cried. "Surely they will not dare----" "No, Monseigneur, have no fear, they shall not dare!"