It was also very much colder than it had been inside the barn. October had come and the lovely sunshine which had persisted all through September had given way to more wintry weather. Marianne shivered in her cotton dress, but she knew she had to get away from where she was as soon as possible and so, plucking up her courage, she darted out and began a tour of inspection. As she had guessed, the barn was on an island, and a fairly large one at that, and she began to make her way along the shore in search of a boat. It did not take long to discover that apart from the barn itself and a few trees and bushes, there was absolutely nothing at all on the island, least of all a boat.
'I shall have to swim,' she told herself with a shiver. 'The thing to do is to find the narrowest place and hope it is also the side farthest from the house.'
Her first thought had been to go boldly up to the house, tell them who she was and throw herself on Queen Julie's mercy, letting the police claim her later if they would. Pilar had gone to Paris. It might prove the wisest thing to do in the long run.
Then she remembered that most of her kidnappers probably belonged to the royal household and that it would be the easiest thing in the world for them to get her into their power again on pretence of caring for her safety, and next time there would be no hope of escape. Besides, in her present filthy state, with her torn and grubby dress, she would certainly be taken for a lunatic and sent packing by the servants without being allowed so much as a glimpse of the queen. The best course was clearly to go to Paris in her own way, attracting no attention, and keeping out of the way of such persons as law officers and others whose suspicions might be aroused by her vagabond appearance, however difficult that might prove.
Accepting the fact that if she wanted to get off her island she would have to swim for it, Marianne selected her spot with care, where the crossing looked easiest, then, removing her clothes without further hesitation, she made them into a bundle, tied it with her sash and fastened the bundle on top of her head.
Her dress was wet already from the rain but, even so, it would be drier like this than after a session in the water. She knew, too, how awkward it could be trying to swim in one's clothes. In any case, the place was so deserted and the darkness by now so thick that she felt there was very little risk of anyone's surprising her in her unconventional attire, and in a very few seconds after removing her clothes she was deep among the reeds which encircled the island, pushing her way through the fleshy tangle of water-lily stems. Her feet sank deeply into a sticky mud which made her shudder but the bottom shelved steeply almost at once and she was soon out of her depth. Launching herself out into the lake she began to swim quietly, making as little noise as possible. The water was cold but not as cold as it had seemed when she first entered it and the feel of it slipping past her naked body was unexpectedly pleasant after so many days in the dusty loft.
It was a long time since Marianne had done any swimming, but her legs and arms performed as if by instinct the easy, flowing movements which old Dobs had taught her. The only really unpleasant thing about this unforeseen exercise was the stagnant smell of the lake itself and the fleeting, underwater contacts with water snakes, which sent a creeping horror over her bare skin. The crossing was not a long one, however, and very soon she felt her feet touch on a hard, sandy bottom. The banks here were fairly high and lined with tall trees, but by grabbing at the thick, flat, water-lily leaves and then at the low branches of a willow,
Marianne managed to haul herself dripping on to the bank. At the top, she scrambled quickly into her damp clothes, pulled on her shoes and set off hopefully through the wood.
It was too dark for her to be able to get much idea of her direction but in any case her principal object was to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. The domain was so large and the woods so wild and overgrown with bushes and brambles which tore at her in her blind progress that she had some hopes at least that she would not be obliged to climb a wall.
By dint of walking straight ahead, now on a spongy carpet of leaves, now through the occasional muddy clearing, she came at last to a path. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and she was able to make better progress, avoiding the more painful obstacles. It was still raining but it was drier under the trees than out in the open ground. Marianne walked for a long time without being any too clear where she was going but keeping a look out for some charcoal burner's hut where she might shelter and rest for a little while. She was frozen to the marrow and desperately tired. In the end she found a large, overhanging rock with a deep, dry hollow at its base which could scarcely have been dignified by the name of a cave. It was a mean enough shelter but Marianne crept into it and, curled up, catlike, in the dead leaves, dropped instantly asleep.
She woke with a start to feel something cold and wet licking her face and found herself staring into the slobbering jaws of a large pointer, who was sniffing at her interestedly. Behind the dog was a pair of legs in canvas leggings and stout, hobnailed boots. Following them upwards, Marianne saw that they belonged to a youth with an ancient fowling piece over his shoulder who was standing looking at her in some perplexity. It was broad daylight and the rain had stopped.
Seeing that the sleeper was awake, the youth called off his dog:
'Here, Briquet! Drop it!'
Obediently, the dog withdrew and sat down by his master, who bent forward and held out his hand to Marianne.
'Good morning,' he said pleasantly. 'I'm glad you're awake. When Briquet found you I thought at first—' He broke off in some embarrassment and it was Marianne who completed the sentence for him.
'That I was dead? Did I look so dreadful?'
'You were so pale.'
'I'm cold.'
This was true. In the sharp morning air, Marianne was shaking like a leaf and the bruises that showed on her pinched arms did nothing to enhance her sorry appearance. The boy hastily removed the short woollen cloak he wore over his own shoulders and put it round Marianne's.
'Come to my house, my grandmother will take care of you. It's quite close – the first roof you can see through the trees, at the edge of the village.'
Marianne saw that she had in fact almost reached the end of the wood and that the smoking chimneys of a village lay only a little way ahead. She felt so ill that she was glad to accept her new friend's offer, merely asking, before she followed him: 'What village is that?'
'Loisy. You don't come from these parts?'
'Is it – is it very far from Mortefontaine?'
'Oh no! Two or three miles east… that's all.'
Was that all? Marianne found it hard to conceal her disappointment. She seemed to have walked so far that she had hoped to have come much farther. Most probably, in her ignorance of the district, she had been walking in circles. She turned her head and looked at her companion. He reminded her a little of Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche. He had the same straw-coloured hair and the same steady blue eyes, but his face was rather thinner and his limbs a good deal longer. On the whole, she was pleased with what she saw and made up her mind to trust him:
'I must tell you I have just escaped from the chateau of Mortefontaine where some people belonging to the Queen of Spain's court have been keeping me prisoner in a barn. But I give you my word I am no criminal, I have not stolen anything—'