Madeleine looked up. She saw around her more than fifty men, three
women, and some children. She shuddered again at the thought of the
awful massacre which would have occurred but for the sailor's
prudence.

'My good girl,' continued the man, 'we are cold, wet, and hungry; can
you shew us to some shelter?'

'Yes; but do you bid some of your men carry my father, who, I fear, is
dying.'

'It is no more than he merits,' replied the man; 'but for your sake I
will have him taken care of.'

'It is what I merit,' said Pierre, in a strange and loud tone; 'but
not from your hands, Jacques.'

'Merciful God!' cried the sailor, 'whose voice is that?'

'You will soon know; but do as your sister bids you, and then we can
talk more at ease.'

Madeleine cast herself sobbing into her brother's arms, who, gently
disengaging her, had a litter prepared for his father, and then,
guided by Madeleine, the procession advanced on its way. An armed
party marched at the head, and in a quarter of an hour the village of
Montreaux was reached. It was entirely deserted. There were fires in
the houses, and lamps lit, and even suppers prepared, but not a living
thing. Even the children and old women on hearing the discharge of
musketry, had fled to a cave where they sometimes took shelter when