Thus the night passed. The robbers fell asleep in front of the fire; and, luckily for Sister Anne, their vile housekeeper did the same, and did not come to share the bed with the poor girl, who lay there all night, listening intently, quivering at the slightest sound in the next room, and praying to heaven to send her a rescuer.

At daybreak, the ruffians woke; they hastily concealed their weapons, then went forth into the forest to work as woodcutters. Before he left, Leroux went to Sister Anne, smiled at her, patted her under the chin, and muttered under his breath:

"To-night, my beauty, I'll say a couple of words to you."

The unhappy girl could not evade those disgusting caresses. Not without an effort did she restrain her indignation. But he went away at last, on the heels of his companions, bidding Christine to keep a sharp lookout on her prisoner.

When Sister Anne was alone with the robbers' female confederate, she was fain to endure the ill humor of that fury, who, being jealous of her presence there, tried to avenge herself by heaping all sorts of indignities upon her, being well assured that she could not complain of them. She laughed at her tears and gestures of entreaty, and the poor child felt that she would die if she did not escape soon from that horrible place.

At night, the four men returned; they ate a little, then took their weapons, Leroux alone excepted.

"Well! don't you propose to go out on the trail with us?" his companions asked him.

"No, no, not yet; I'll join you later; but I'm glad of the chance to say a word to my little mute."

As he said this, a bestial smile gleamed in his eyes, which were constantly fixed upon Sister Anne.

"Oh, yes! I understand," said Pierre; "we'll let it pass to-day, but you mustn't let love make you forget your duty."

"But if a well-lined post chaise should happen along," said Jacques, "we shan't be strong enough to attack."

"Bah! it ain't likely that there'll be one to-night; anyway, I tell you I'll join you soon."

"All right! all right! we'll get along without him; and if some rich prize does turn up, why, it will belong to us, and he won't get any of it."

"That's fair enough, mates."

The three men left the cabin, with a mocking glance at the dumb girl, who did not divine her impending peril, or the meaning of their smile. But when she saw that Leroux did not accompany them, she shuddered involuntarily and turned her eyes on Christine, as if she hoped for aid from her. But she, after glancing at her and at Leroux with the same mocking smile, went into the other room and slammed the door behind her.

Sister Anne started to follow her, but when she saw that it was impossible she fell back on the straw on which she had been sitting; she trembled convulsively; she was alone with the brigand.

Leroux seated himself in front of the fire and poked it; then lighted a pipe and smoked for several minutes, interrupting his smoking only to drink and to glance at Sister Anne. She trembled in every limb, in the corner where she had seated herself in order to be as far as possible from the robber, whose eyes, as he glanced at her, were inflamed with lust.

"Damned fine, ten thousand devils!" he cried, from time to time. "Fine eyes, fine teeth. She'll be even better looking in a few months, but damn the odds! And those clowns didn't see her! Oh! I won't give her up to you, my mates! We don't capture such prizes often."

These words added to the poor girl's alarm; it was increased tenfold when Leroux, who had not remained behind solely to drink and smoke, motioned to her to come to him. She pretended not to understand, and lowered her eyes. Thereupon he rose and walked toward her. The girl could hardly breathe. The brigand threw himself on the straw, beside her; she tried to rise and go away from him, but he detained her by force, passing his arm about her waist, and putting his repulsive face close to hers. The poor girl put her hand before her eyes, so that she could not see Leroux's.

"Ha! ha! I really believe she's trembling!" he exclaimed, with a roar of savage laughter. "I promise you, my dear, it don't become you to play the prude; anyone can see you haven't always been one."

With that, he put his face still nearer to hers, and tried to kiss her on the lips; but she, summoning all her courage, pushed him away, and, taking advantage of his surprise, sprang quickly to her feet and ran to the other end of the room, behind the table on which the robbers ate.

Leroux stared at her in amazement, but in a moment smiled again, saying:

"Oho! so you're balky, are you? Pretty good! Do you really think of resisting me?"

He rose and went toward her; with a well-directed kick, he sent the table to the other end of the room; then, seizing the girl, who struggled to no purpose, he took her in his arms and carried her back to the heap of straw. Once more she summoned all her courage, all her strength, to resist the brigand, who was determined to triumph over her, and who, after laughing scornfully at her defence, finally became furious at her obstinate resistance. This pitiful struggle lasted a long time, but the unfortunate girl felt that her strength was failing her; tears and sobs suffocated her, and she was on the point of becoming the victim of the villain who strove to force her, when of a sudden there was a succession of violent blows on the door of the cabin.

"The devil take anybody who comes just now!" cried Leroux. "Those fellows have done it on purpose; but I won't let 'em in."

At that moment, he heard a strange voice, which said:

"Open, for God's sake! save me! you shall be handsomely rewarded!"

It was not the voice of any of Leroux's companions. The robber was surprised beyond words. He listened in terror, while Sister Anne fell on her knees and thanked heaven for rescuing her.

Christine came hastily from the other room, and ran up to Leroux in evident perturbation.

"Somebody's knocking, do you hear? It's a strange voice."

"Morbleu! yes, I hear it well enough. Go and look out of the window, and try to see whether it's just one man."

Christine obeyed, and returned in a moment.

"Yes, he's alone," she said.

"Then let's let him in," said Leroux; "but we must be prudent till our friends return."

Having replaced the table in the middle of the room, Leroux resumed his pipe and his seat before the fire, while Christine opened the door of the hovel to the person who had knocked.

The stranger who appeared in the doorway was an elderly man, whose dress denoted wealth, and his manners high rank; but he was hatless, his clothes were in disorder, and the pallor of his cheeks betrayed agitation and fear. He rushed into the cabin, and did not seem to breathe freely until he saw the door closed and locked behind him.

"Pardon, pardon, good people!" he said, addressing Leroux and Christine; "I fear I have disturbed you and interrupted your rest; but by giving me shelter you save my life."

"How so, monsieur?" said Leroux, with an air of deep interest.

"I have just been attacked, my friends, yonder, on the road that crosses the forest I was in my carriage, with my servant, and the postilion was urging the horses. Suddenly a party of robbers came out of the forest; they rushed to the horses' heads and fired point-blank at the postilion; the poor fellow fell dead! Having stopped the carriage, they ordered me and my servant to alight, and one of them got in to search it; while he was inside, I took advantage of a moment when the villains had not their eyes on me, and plunged into the forest, selecting the darkest paths; I succeeded in getting thus far, when I saw this light and knocked at your door."

"You did well, monsieur," said Leroux, with a significant glance at Christine. "Sit you down before the fire, and warm yourself and get back your breath."

"Oh! you are too kind!" said the traveller, seating himself by the hearth; "but my unfortunate servant—what have they done to him? will he, too, be their victim?"

"Oh! that ain't likely. They probably let him go, after robbing him. They only killed the postilion to make him stop. I know their ways; there's so much robbery in this infernal forest!"

"I ought not to have taken that road; it was out of my way; but I wanted to see this region."

"Did the rascals rob you, monsieur?"

"No, thank heaven! they were going to do it, no doubt, when I got away. I have saved my wallet and my purse, at all events."

"You're very lucky, on my word," said Leroux, with another glance at Christine. "Well, monsieur, you must make the best of it, and try to forget all about it. We'll do our best for you; for you mustn't think of leaving here before daylight; that would be very imprudent."

"I have no intention of doing so, if you will allow me to remain."

"Allow you! why, with great pleasure! Come, Christine, be spry! prepare our guest's supper."

Throughout this conversation, Sister Anne had kept her eyes fixed on the stranger, whose face, although rather stern, aroused her interest and respect. She shuddered at the thought that he had escaped one danger only to fall into another. Knowing now the unmitigated villainy of the occupants of the hovel, she trembled for the traveller's life, and her gaze, fastened insistently upon him, seemed to be striving to warn him of the perils by which he was surrounded.

But the stranger had not yet noticed the dumb girl, who was seated on the floor in a corner of the room; hardly recovered from his agitation, he drew nearer to the fire, and rarely removed his eyes from it.

"It's lucky, on my word, that the robbers didn't follow you," said Leroux, offering the traveller a glass of wine.

"What saved me, I fancy, was this: at the moment I escaped, I heard a great clatter of hoofs——"

"Oho! you heard the sound of horses?" queried Leroux, uneasily.

"Yes; at least, I thought so. But I was so excited! It may have been other brigands, or the constables in pursuit of them."

"Yes, that's so; it might have been."

"I served in the army once, but I confess that I don't care for an encounter with robbers; against such hounds, courage is often of no avail. Besides, I had no weapons about me."

"Ah! you have no weapons?"

"No; my pistols were in the carriage, but they didn't give me time to take them."

Leroux seemed to reflect. Since the stranger had said that he had heard horses on the road, he was less tranquil in his mind.

"You are a woodcutter, I presume?" said the traveller.

"Yes, monsieur; I'm a woodcutter; and this is my wife," said Leroux, pointing to Christine, who was laying the table for supper.

"Aren't you at all afraid, here in the heart of this forest?"

"Why, what should we be afraid of? We're not rich enough to tempt robbers. Come, Christine, look alive; monsieur will want to sleep when he's had his supper."

"Oh! don't hurry her so."

The stranger, having recovered somewhat from his excitement, began to look about him with more attention; and as he scrutinized the different parts of the room, he at last observed Sister Anne seated on the heap of straw, with her eyes fixed upon his with an expression which made it impossible for him not to notice her. Taken by surprise, he gazed for some time with interest at the dumb girl's pale, worn features, and seemed puzzled by the strange way in which she looked at him.

"Who is that girl?" he asked Christine; "I didn't notice her before."

"That! oh! she don't amount to much," replied the tall woman, shortly.

"Isn't she your child?"

"No, monsieur," said Leroux; "she's an unfortunate deaf mute that I found in the forest; and we took her in from charity. She'll soon be a mother, and I took pity on her."

"That does you honor, monsieur; the poor thing is so young, and her face so sweet! Haven't you been able to find out where she came from, or her name?"

"How in the devil do you suppose one can find out anything from a deaf and dumb woman? However, it don't make much difference; she's pretty near an idiot, too, I think; but I'll keep her here."

When she heard this, Sister Anne rose and walked slowly toward the stranger, still gazing at him with an expression of interest blended with compassion.

"Well, well! what's she doing?" said Leroux; "the poor girl has surely lost her reason! Make her go into the other room, Christine; it's time she went to bed."

Christine pushed the dumb girl roughly toward the door of the rear room. Sister Anne left the stranger's presence with profound regret; she would have liked to keep him in sight, because she took the liveliest interest in his welfare; but she was forced to obey. She walked slowly toward the door, still looking at the stranger, who seemed touched by the intensity of her gaze and followed her with his eyes until the door closed upon her.

Christine went into the rear room with Sister Anne; she looked through the window, and seemed disturbed by the non-return of the robbers. The dumb girl lay down on the pallet, not to sleep, but to reflect upon the means of saving the stranger by warning him of the risk he ran if he remained in the cabin. How could she gain access to him, and how make herself understood? At that moment, Leroux entered the room and closed the door carefully; then he went up to Christine, and, thanks to their conviction that Sister Anne could not hear them, she was soon made acquainted with their plans.

"Well! can't you hear them coming?" asked Leroux.

"No; I can't hear anything."

"It's very strange! what can they be doing in the forest since that man got here? I don't feel easy in my mind; he said something about horses and constables. Suppose our friends are arrested!"

"The devil! would they sell us?"

"Hark ye! when this stranger's had his supper and gone to sleep, I'll go out and try to find out something. If the others are in the forest, I know where to find 'em. If they're taken or gone, we'll take advantage of the stranger's sleep to make way with him, and with what he has on him we'll do well to get out of danger ourselves by leaving the forest."

"That's a good idea; give him his supper, and let him go to sleep; and then, when you come back, we'll go to work. Meanwhile, I'll lie down and rest a bit."

"Yes, do; don't be afraid but what I'll wake you when I need you."

Leroux went back to the traveller, and the repulsive Christine threw herself on the bed, beside Sister Anne, who had to endure the close proximity of a creature whom she knew to be planning a murder with the most revolting deliberation. But the poor girl did not stir; she had overheard all the conversation of those monsters, she had not lost a word of their schemes, and she still hoped to save the stranger. A single fear oppressed her: that the three robbers would return; for then all would be lost; she would be compelled to witness the unfortunate man's death, or to die with him.

Christine was hardly on the bed when a prolonged snore indicated that she was asleep. Thereupon Sister Anne rose softly and crept to the partition, where she put her eye to a crack through which she could look into the other room.

The stranger was tranquilly eating his supper; Leroux strove to entertain him, but he constantly listened with marked disquietude for sounds out of doors, and seemed desirous that the traveller should go to bed at once. Sister Anne was able to observe the old man's features at her leisure; and the more she looked at him, the stronger grew her feeling of interest and attachment, which seemed not to be born solely of his perilous situation. At the slightest noise caused by the wind or by the falling of a dead branch, the girl shivered in mortal terror, fancying that it was the three brigands returning; whereas, on the contrary, Leroux's face would assume a look of satisfaction, as he ran and listened at the door, hoping to hear his confederates' voices.

"Are you expecting company?" inquired the stranger.

"No, monsieur, no; it's the fear of robbers that makes me keep my ears open; but I'm beginning to think they haven't followed you; so you can go to sleep quietly."

"I'll lie down till daybreak; then you will be good enough to guide me to the nearest village."

"Yes, monsieur, with pleasure; but you can sleep comfortably; it's a long while to daybreak. This is the only bed I can offer you—fresh straw; I'm sorry not to be able to give you anything better, but we're pretty poor!"

"Oh! I shall be very comfortable; don't worry at all about me."

As he spoke, the stranger lay down on the straw and tried to sleep; while Leroux stood before the fire, turning his head now and again to see if his guest had fallen asleep. The dumb girl, her eye still glued to the crack in the partition, did not lose either of them from sight, and prayed fervently that Christine might not wake.

At last, the traveller seemed to doze, and Leroux went to fetch his weapons from the cellar, the opening to which was covered by a plank and concealed by a heap of straw. Sister Anne shuddered; suppose the villain proposed to murder the old man at once! But, no; having replaced the board, he stole softly from the cabin, muttering: "I'll go to the usual place; and if they ain't there, I'll come right back."

He opened the door without a sound, and disappeared. The time to act had come; the dumb girl summoned all her courage, and stole into the other room, walking on tiptoe for fear of waking Christine; then she locked the door securely, to prevent her from coming out in case she should wake. The room in which the stranger lay asleep was lighted only by the fire on the hearth. Sister Anne went to him, grasped his arm, and squeezed it with all her force. The old man woke, and was surprised to see her bending over him with an expression of the most intense and painful anxiety on her face. He was about to speak, but she hastily placed a finger on his lips, and her eyes, as she glanced about in terror, bade him keep perfectly still. He rose and nervously awaited an explanation of this mysterious scene.

Sister Anne ran to the cellar, succeeded in raising the opening, took a blazing brand from the fire, and, motioning to the traveller to come near, showed him the interior, where there were weapons and garments of all sorts, the blood with which they were covered sufficiently attesting the method by which the robbers had come into possession of them. The stranger shuddered.

"Great God!" he said; "am I in a den of thieves?"

The girl nodded her head, then ran to the pile of straw, and indicated by signs that they intended to return and murder him while he slept.

The stranger at once took possession of a pair of pistols which he found near the entrance to the cellar.

"At all events, I will sell my life dearly," he said. "But you, poor woman, what are you to do?"

Sister Anne interrupted him by running to the door of the cabin, throwing it open, and making signs that he must fly at once and that she would go with him. The stranger took her hand, and they left the house. At that moment, Christine, hearing a noise, rose and tried to leave her room; when she found that she was locked in, she began to shriek and call Leroux, and, running to the window, saw the dumb girl and the stranger just disappearing in the forest.

"Damnation! they've got away!" cried Christine, trying to remove the bars at the window.

The old man pointed one of his pistols at her; but Sister Anne stopped him, making him understand that the report would attract the brigands. Her companion saw that she was right; so they fled, and, leaving the vile creature hurling curses at them, they were soon far away from the robbers' lair.

After wandering about the forest more than an hour, trembling at the slightest sound, lest they should fall in with Leroux and his confederates, the fugitives heard the steps of several horses. That could be nothing but the constabulary in search of the brigands. The dumb girl and the stranger started in the direction of the sound. Soon a man passed them, running at full speed; it was Leroux, with a horseman in pursuit. Another man on horseback followed, and, when he saw Sister Anne's companion, cried: "Here's my master! Thank heaven, the scoundrels didn't kill him!"

The traveller pointed out to the officers the abode of the brigands; then, mounting a horse that his servant was leading, he took the dumb girl en croupe who had saved his life, and they rode rapidly out of the forest.

The traveller did not cease to express his gratitude to his liberatress, while she thanked God that she was no longer in the power of the robbers.

The servant told his master that, a few moments after he had fled into the forest, the constables appeared, and the outlaws thought of nothing but escape; but two of them were overtaken, and were killed while resisting capture. Thereupon, taking the horses, which had already been unhitched from the chaise, the servant had mounted one and joined the constables who were searching the forest, hoping to find his master.

A danger passed is soon forgotten. They arrived at a large village, and the travellers knocked at the door of a farmhouse, where they were made welcome and received every attention. The dumb girl was especially in need of speedy assistance. The horrible situation in which she had been placed for two days, the danger she had barely escaped, the superhuman effort she had made during that ghastly night—all these things together had been too much for the unfortunate child, who was hardly able to stand erect. They put her in a warm bed; the people at the farm, when they learned of her condition and of what she had done to save the aged traveller, manifested the most sympathetic interest in her, and her companion would not go to bed until he was certain that everything possible had been done for his liberatress.

The next day, the carriage, which had been found on the road, was brought to the farm, and there was nothing to prevent the stranger from continuing his journey; but Sister Anne was in a high fever, and he was unwilling to leave her until he was assured that her life was in no danger. The best physician in the neighborhood was summoned; the stranger spent money lavishly to provide her with everything that her condition demanded. He passed a large part of the day in her room, adding his attentions to those of the farmer's family.

Sister Anne was conscious of all that he did for her, and her heart was deeply touched. Despite her weakness and suffering, she seized his hand and pressed it gratefully.

"Poor woman!" said the stranger, profoundly affected; "I will not leave you until my mind is at rest concerning your life. I would have liked to take you to your destination, in my carriage. What can I do for you? You can hear me, I see; so that you are deprived of the power of speech only. Do you know how to write?"

Sister Anne shook her head; then she seemed suddenly to remember something, and made a movement with her hand as if she were trying to form letters. The old man handed her a pen, but she could not use it; then he gave her a piece of chalk; whereupon she sat up in bed, leaned over a table that stood beside it, and succeeded, not without a mighty effort, in writing the name FrÉdÉric with the chalk. That done, she pointed to it and sadly shook her head, as if to say:

"That is all I know."

The old man seemed greatly surprised when he read the name she had written on the table. He reflected a moment, then looked at Sister Anne with renewed interest; but it seemed to her that the expression of his eyes was less gentle, that there was in it a touch of sternness which she could not define.

"And your own name," he said; "can't you write that?"

Sister Anne shook her head, and again wrote the name FrÉdÉric.

The traveller seemed extremely preoccupied all the rest of the day, and whenever his eyes rested on the dumb girl he fell into a profound reverie. For five days, Sister Anne's condition was such that her life was in danger, and the old man did not leave the farm. At the end of that time there was a perceptible improvement; the physician promised that she would recover, but said that she would be very weak for a long time, and that it would be imprudent in the extreme for her to leave the farm before her lying-in.

Sister Anne's eyes filled with tears when she was told of this; she was afraid of being a burden to the kind-hearted folk who had taken her in; but the stranger lost no time in pacifying and consoling her.

"I have provided for everything," he said; "wait here until your health is fully restored, and, if nothing calls you elsewhere, remain permanently with these good people; they love you, and you will be happy here."

But Sister Anne sadly shook her head, and motioned with her hand that she must go a long, long way. The stranger, who had already given twenty-five louis to the villagers for their past and future care of the young woman, put a purse filled with gold in his rescuer's hands. She would fain have refused it, and was sadly at a loss to express her gratitude.

"You owe me nothing, my child," he said; "remember that you saved my life, and that I shall owe you gratitude as long as I live. Take this paper too; my name and address are written on it. If you are ever in difficulty, let me know, and always count on my protection."

Sister Anne took the paper and placed it in the purse he had given her. He, after gazing at her for some moments with evident emotion, kissed her on the forehead, then, tearing himself away from her demonstrations of gratitude, entered his carriage and drove away, leaving at the farm abundant tokens of his generosity.

After he had gone, Sister Anne was melancholy and depressed for a long while. Her heart went out to that stranger; in her mind, his image had taken its place beside FrÉdÉric's; but the loving friendship she felt for the one in no wise impaired her ardent love for the other.