‘But would there be no suspicion?’ asked Marie.
‘None,’ replied her lover. ‘For his own sake, he would keep the secret close as the grave. He has a ready wit too, and an unabashed presence, that would carry him through any dilemma. I ought to know it.’
‘Hist!’ cried Marie; ‘there is a noise in the passage. We are overheard.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Sainte-Croix. ‘The night-wind rushing along the passages has blown-to some of the doors.’
The Marchioness had gone to the entrance of the salle, and looked along the vaulted way that led to it. A door at the upper end was distinctly heard to close.
‘I heard retreating footsteps!’ she exclaimed rapidly, as she returned. ‘There have been some eavesdroppers, I tell you.’
‘Pshaw!’ replied Gaudin; ‘who would come down here? It might be Philippe Glazer, who brought me into the hospital, and is anxious to know how much longer our interview is to last.’
‘He does not know me?’ inquired the Marchioness, in a tone that led up to the answer she desired.
‘He knows nothing, beyond that I have some idle affair with a religieuse. Pardieu! if every similar gallantry was taken notice of in Paris, the newsmongers would have enough to do.’
‘However,’ said Marie, ‘it is time that we departed. I must go back to my dreary home.’