Part 27 (1/2)

”M. le Cure is right,” he said. ”The night-wind is rising, and there is a tempest close at hand. See the cows, how they are coming up the valley for shelter in the stalls! They know what this wind says.”

”To horse! to horse!” cried the dragoon, as he raised his silver horn and blew a prolonged blast. ”We have no time to lose; the roads are long and difficult.”

A clear blast from the valley instantly echoed to his summons, and the next moment a group of men and dogs were seen hurrying up the slope.

”Farewell, my friends,” said the Countess; ”farewell, Pere Jacques! M.

le Cure, you will return and dine with us?”

”Madame, I thank you; but--but this is a fast-day with me.”

”Well, to-morrow. You will come to-morrow? I will sing you some of those old songs you are so fond of! Say yes, M. le Cure.”

”Madame la Comtesse will graciously excuse me. I must catechise the children of the district to-morrow.”

”But my brother returns to-morrow to his regiment--you will come to bid him farewell?”

”Monsieur de Pradines has already accepted my good wishes and compliments.”

”The day after to-morrow, then, M. le Cure?”

”Madame, I will endeavour.”

”But you promise nothing. Ah, monsieur, for some time past you have been very sparing of your visits. Have I offended you that you will no longer honour me with your company?”

”Offended me!--oh Madame!”

These words were uttered with an accent and an expression so peculiar that the young lady looked up in surprise, and saw that the priest's eyes were full of tears.

For at moment she was silent; then, affecting an air of gaiety, ”Adieu, M. le Cure,” she cried as she turned away; ”be more neighbourly in future.”

Then, seeing that he still held the wounded partridge, ”Alas! that poor bird,” she exclaimed; ”it is trembling still!”

”Ah, Madame la Comtesse,” said Pere Jacques. ”I'll engage that, if M. le Cure opened his hand, that cunning partridge would be a mile away in half a minute!”

”Do you think it will live? Well, Pere Jacques, take care of it for my sake. Feed it for two or three days, and then give the poor bird its liberty.”

”Sister!” said the dragoon, in a tone of impatience, ”the storm is coming on.”

”Adieu all!” were the last words of the Countess, as she took her brother's arm, and went down the rough pathway leading to the valley.

In a few minutes more they had mounted their horses and set off at a quick gallop towards the turreted chateau that peeped above the trees three miles away. The priest and the herdsmen stood watching them in silence till they disappeared round an angle of rock, and listened till the faint echo of the horns died away in the distance.

”Dear little Queen Marguerite!” exclaimed Pere Jacques, when all was silent. ”Dear little Queen Marguerite, how good and kind she is!”

”And how beautiful!” murmured the priest.

Then taking a little leathern purse from his breast, he slipped an _ecu_ into the mountaineer's hand.

”Good Jacques,” said he, ”I will take care of the partridge; but say nothing to the Countess when you see her again. Good evening, friends, and thanks for your hospitality!”

And the Cure threw his gun across his shoulder, whistled to his dog, and turned towards the pathway.