Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, “They are safe!” Then, turning to the sergeant, she said:  “Sir, you can see this young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from her.  Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously expected.”

“You’ll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty,” rejoined the sergeant.  “And you’ll have to explain what you were after at this time of night with the ruffians who have just got away.  I don’t know what witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch the women—­for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to find pretty girls.”

“You’re very flattering, sergeant!” said Colomba, “but you’ll do well to be careful what you say.  This young lady is related to the prefect, and you’d better be careful of your language before her.”

“A relation of the prefect’s,” whispered one of the soldiers to his chief.  “Why, she does wear a hat!”

“Hats have nothing to do with it,” said the sergeant.  “They were both of them with the Padre—­the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole country, so it’s my business to march them off.  And, indeed, there’s nothing more for us to do here.  But for that d——­d Corporal Taupin—­the drunken Frenchman showed himself before I’d surrounded the maquis—­we should have had them all like fish in a net.”

“Are there only seven of you here?” inquired Colomba.  “It strikes me, gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers—­Gambini, Sarocchi, and Teodoro—­should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to grind.  If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, I’d just as soon not be there.  In the dark, bullets don’t show any respect for persons.”

The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers.  The sergeant, still cursing Corporal Taupin—­“that dog of a Frenchman”—­gave the order to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying the pilone and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was settled with a kick.

One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia’s arm, but Colomba instantly pushed him away.

“Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!” she said.  “Do you fancy we want to run away?  Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don’t cry like a baby.  We’ve had an adventure, but it will end all right.  In half an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I’m dying to get to it.”

“What will they think of me!” Miss Nevil whispered.

“They’ll think you lost your way in the maquis, that’s all.”

“What will the prefect say?  Above all, what will my father say?”

“The prefect?  You can tell him to mind his own business!  Your father?  I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you had something to say to your father.”