The Count came up just as Esperance lost her seat and fell with one
foot caught in the stirrup. Her lovely blonde hair swept the earth.
Twenty yards more and that exquisite little head would be crashed upon
the rocks.
With a desperate effort, Albert by spurring his horse furiously was
able to reach her horse's head, seize him by the bridle and swing
himself to the ground.
Braced against the rocks, he succeeded in halting the trembling beast,
and bent in anguish over the fainting girl. But just as he freed
Esperance's feet, the horse, still trampling and plunging, kicked him
full in the head. He went down like a stone.
Maurice and Jean had now come up. One calmed the horse, the other went
to the aid of the wounded man. Albert, his face streaming with blood,
was murmuring feebly, "No, she is not dead; no, she is not dead...."
He fell back unconscious.
Jean was kneeling beside Esperance. He raised his eyes to Maurice,
moist with tears, but bright with hope.
"She is alive," he said, "she has just moaned feebly. It is only a
little way to the farm. Hurry Maurice, go for help. God grant the
Count's wound may not be fatal...."
The peasants who were haymaking nearby had left their work and come
upon the scene. One man offered his cart and Albert was lifted,
unconscious and bloodstained, and laid on the hay.
Esperance had come to her senses. She could see, but could not
understand. A peasant woman, kneeling beside her, washed her face in
water from a pool in the rocks.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155