tew with potatoes, onions and beans from the Hales' garden and hominy
grits on the side that Nancy had pounded from corn. They washed it down
with fresh-squeezed apple cider.

"I allow no spiritous liquors in my home," said Reverend Hale.

Now that it was dark Auguste wanted desperately to be off to see
Grandpapa at Nicole and Frank's house. The old man had been badly hurt.
He might be dying.

By candlelight Hale read the Bible aloud to Nancy and Auguste. It was
his nightly custom, Nancy explained.

Auguste heard the soft clip-clop of a horse's hooves and the creak of
carriage wheels and raised a hand to alert the others.

Putting a finger to her lips, Nancy went to the door. She opened it a
crack, then pulled it wider and went out.

"Who is it?" Hale called anxiously.

His heart pounding, Auguste was on his feet, looking for a weapon or for
a place to hide.

No answer came from Nancy, but a moment later she came back, one arm
around another woman's shoulders, supporting her. A blue kerchief
covered the woman's head.

"Who is this?" Hale said again.

"Bon soir, Reverend Hale. Forgive me for disturbing you."

It was a moment before Auguste recognized the battered, swollen face of
Marchette. One of her eyes had been blackened this morning, but now
there were ugly bruises around both eyes, her whole face was swollen and
her lips were cut and puffed.

Heartbroken at the sight of her, Auguste rushed to the cook and took her
hands in his.

"Marchette! What happened to you?"

"I cried very much when you and Monsieur Elysee were hurt today,
Monsieur Auguste. Armand did not like this, and he beat me. It _looks_
very bad, but he did not beat me hard, Monsieur. Whoever Armand beats
hard, dies. But I resolved to do something for you. Monsieur Raoul, he
had barrels of Kaintuck whiskey carted up to the chateau. Many guests
and servants got very drunk. After a while Armand was lying on the floor
beside the table, so then I went to fetch your things. Your trunk was
unlocked, and I gathered up your clothes and books and put them in it
and locked it. I had Bernadette Bosquet, the fiddler's wife, she is my
friend, help carry your trunk down to the carriage."

Auguste felt as if a sudden bright light had flooded his room. His
medicine bundle had been in the trunk. And his surgical instruments.
They were safe.

He jumped up from the table. A throb of pain went through his head, and
he felt dizzy and had to cling to the