In the end Sambuc prevailed on Father Fouchard to let him have a sack, although it wrung the old miser’s heartstrings to part with it.  He selected one that was full of holes, remarking that anything was good enough for a Prussian.  Cabasse and Ducat had all the trouble in the world to get Goliah into it; it was too short and too narrow for the long, broad body, and the feet protruded at its mouth.  Then they carried their burden outside and placed it on the wheelbarrow that had served to convey to them their bread.

“You’ll not be troubled with him any more, I give you my word of honor!” declared Sambuc.  “We’ll go and toss him into the Meuse.”

“Be sure and fasten a couple of big stones to his feet,” recommended Fouchard, “so the lubber shan’t come up again.”

And the little procession, dimly outlined against the white waste of snow, started and soon was buried in the blackness of the night, giving no sound save the faint, plaintive creaking of the barrow.

In after days Sambuc swore by all that was good and holy he had obeyed the old man’s directions, but none the less the corpse came to the surface and was discovered two days afterward by the Prussians among the weeds at Pont-Maugis, and when they saw the manner of their countryman’s murder, his throat slit like a pig, their wrath and fury knew no bounds.  Their threats were terrible, and were accompanied by domiciliary visits and annoyances of every kind.  Some of the villagers must have blabbed, for there came a party one night and arrested Father Fouchard and the Mayor of Remilly on the charge of giving aid and comfort to the francs-tireurs, who were manifestly the perpetrators of the crime.  And Father Fouchard really came out very strong under those untoward circumstances, exhibiting all the impassability of a shrewd old peasant, who knew the value of silence and a tranquil demeanor.  He went with his captors without the least sign of perturbation, without even asking them for an explanation.  The truth would come out.  In the country roundabout it was whispered that he had already made an enormous fortune from the Prussians, sacks and sacks of gold pieces, that he buried away somewhere, one by one, as he received them.

All these stories were a terrible source of alarm to Henriette when she came to hear of them.  Jean, fearing he might endanger the safety of his hosts, was again eager to get away, although the doctor declared he was still too weak, and she, saddened by the prospect of their approaching separation, insisted on his delaying his departure for two weeks.  At the time of Father Fouchard’s arrest Jean had escaped a like fate by hiding in the barn, but he was liable to be taken and led away captive at any moment should there be further searches made.  She was also anxious as to her uncle’s fate, and so she resolved one morning to go to Sedan and see the Delaherches, who had, it was said, a Prussian officer of great influence quartered in their house.