No objection was made to his lifting her in his arms, and he carried her, as the party, half-drowned, nearly starved and exhausted, stumbled on along the rocky paths which cut their feet cruelly, since their shoes had all been taken from them.  Lanty gave what help he could to the Abbe and Victorine, who were both in a miserable plight, but ere long he was obliged to take his turn in carrying Estelle, whose weight had become too much for the worn out Hebert.  He was alarmed to find, on transferring her, that her head sank on his shoulder as if in a sleep of exhaustion, which, however, shielded her from much terror.  For, as they arrived at a cluster of five or six tents, built of clay and the branches of trees, out rushed a host of women, children, and large fierce dogs, all making as much noise as they were capable of.  The dogs flew at the strange white forms, no doubt utterly new to them.  Victorine was severely bitten, and Lanty, trying to rescue her, had his leg torn.

These two were driven into one hut; Estelle, who was evidently considered as the greatest prize, was taken into another and rather better one, together with the steward and the Abbe.  The Moors, who had swum ashore, had probably told them that she was the Frankish Bey’s daughter; for this, miserable place though it was, appeared to be the best hut in the hamlet, nor was she deprived of her clothes.  A sort of bournouse or haik, of coarse texture and very dirty, was given to each of the others, and some rye cakes baked in the ashes.  Poor little Estelle turned away her head at first, but Hebert, alarmed at her shivering in her wet clothes, contrived to make her swallow a little, and then took off the soaked dress, and wrapped her in the bournouse.  She was by this time almost unconscious from weariness, and made no resistance to the unaccustomed hands, or the disgusting coarseness and uncleanness of her wrapper, but dropped asleep the moment he laid her down, and he applied himself to trying to dry her clothes at a little fire of sticks that had been lighted outside the open space, round which the huts stood.

The Abbe too had fallen asleep, as Hebert managed to assure poor Lanty, who rushed out of the other tent, nearly naked, and bloodstained in many places, but more concerned at his separation from his foster-brother than at anything else that had befallen him.  Men, women, children, and dogs were all after him, supposing him to be trying to escape, and he was seized upon and dragged back by main force, but not before the steward had called out —

’M. l’Abbe sleeps—­sleeps sound—­he is not hurt!  For Heaven’s sake, Laurent, be quiet—­do not enrage them!  It is the only hope for him, as for Mademoiselle and the rest of us.’

Lanty, on hearing of the Abbe’s safety, allowed himself to be taken back, making himself, however, a passive dead weight on his captor’s hands.