"They are there, father," said Bertha.
"Yes, yes," gasped Michel. "I saw them there; they have torches. A woman is guiding them, marching at their head; the general is second."
"Oh, that cursèd Jean Oullier! Why isn't he here?" said the marquis.
"He is fighting, Monsieur le marquis," said Michel. "He sent me; he couldn't come himself."
"He!" exclaimed the marquis.
"But I was coming, mademoiselle; I was coming myself. I knew yesterday the château was to be attacked, but I was a prisoner; I got down from a second-story window."
"Good God!" cried Mary, turning pale.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Bertha.
"Gentlemen," said Petit-Pierre, tranquilly, "I think we must decide on a course. Shall we fight? If we do, we must arm ourselves at once, bar the gates, and take our posts. Shall we escape? If so, there is even less time to lose."
"Let us fight!" said the marquis.