A few steps from the farm was a swamp. The road narrows there so that two horses can hardly go abreast. Mother Billet had gone through and the girl was about to follow when she heard a whistle.
In the shadow she spied the laced cap of Isidore’s groom. She let her mother ride on and waited for the messenger.
“Master wants to see you very particular this evening at eleven, wherever you like,” said the man.
“Good gracious, has anything bad happened to him?” she said.
“I do not know; but he had a letter from town sealed with black wax. I have been waiting an hour for you.”
Ten o’clock struck on the village church bell. Catherine looked round her.
“This place is dark and out of the way,” she said; “I will await your Master here.”
At the fixed time she ran out to the spot, warned by the sound of a galloping horse. It was Isidore, attended by the groom, who stood at a space while the noble advanced, without getting off his horse.
He held out his arms to her, lifted her on the stirrup, kissed her and said:
“My brother Valence was killed yesterday at Versailles and my brother the count calls me. I am off, Catherine!”