Then she turned to
me, and I awaited her words with a desperate sort of courage.
"I believe you," she said. "I remember you now. My sister was
the wife of your keeper at the common jail. You shall be safe.
Alas! my Jean might have died without a word to me all alone in
the night. Merci mille fois, monsieur!" Then she rocked a little
to and fro, and the old man looked at her like a curious child. At
last, "I must go to him," she said. "My poor Jean must be brought
home."
I told her I had already left word concerning the body at
headquarters. She thanked me again. Overcome as she was, she went
and brought me a peasant's hat and coat. Such trust and kindness
touched me. Trembling, she took from me the coat and hat I had
worn, and she put her hands before her eyes when she saw a little
spot of blood upon the flap of a pocket. The old man reached out
his hands, and, taking them, he held them on his knees, whispering
to himself.
"You will be safe here," the wife said to me. "The loft above is
small, but it will hide you, if you have no better place."
I was thankful that I had told her all the truth. I should be snug
here, awaiting the affair in the cathedral on the morrow. There
was Voban, but I knew not of him, or whether he was open to aid or
shelter me.
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