"Certainly," said M. de Morin; "I will follow you."
On entering the garden they perceived one of the Nubians in the service of Madame de Guéran, and M. Périères was about to commission this woman to inform the Baroness of their presence, when M. de Morin stopped him.
"No," he said, "I see Madame de Guéran down there by that clump of trees, and I prefer going to her without giving her the opportunity of declining to see me."
"Not very often the case, as far as you are concerned," said M.
Périères. "However, we will not be announced. Come along."
They were both of them actuated by precisely the same sentiments, they were experiencing a similar fear, and partaking of an equal amount of jealousy, but they remained utterly ignorant of the fact, and each of them was secretly in his heart reproaching the other for his duplicity, his cunning, and, above all, his victory.
Madame de Guéran rose as soon as she saw her visitors, and went quickly to meet them. She seemed very much agitated, and deeply affected.
"Ah!" she said, hurriedly. "You have done well to come, and to come together. I had reckoned upon postponing my interview with you until to-morrow, but I am anxious to have done with my irresolution. Chance has brought about a meeting, and I will explain myself this evening."
"When you allude to chance," observed M. de Morin, "you, doubtless, address yourself to me?"
"No," she said quietly, "I address myself to both of you. Why should I address you in preference to M. Périères? But what is the matter with you both? I declare I should not know you."
The sky was studded with stars of marvellous brightness, and Laura de Guéran, who had just raised her eyes to look at her two companions, was able to observe their pallor and their pained expression.