"Yes, your enemy, who would lie down on this bed and die if she saw you made prisoner."
There was no reply to make. The widow of Pascal Picaut raised the mattress on which the body lay, and hid the clothes and shirt and shoes, which had so awakened Courtin's curiosity, beneath it. Then she pointed to a place between the mattress and the straw bed, on the side toward the wall, wide enough for a small person to lie, and the young woman glided into it without resistance, making for herself a breathing-space at the edge. Then the widow pushed the bedstead back into its place.
Mistress Picaut had barely time to look carefully into every corner of the room to make sure that nothing compromising to her guests was left about, when she heard the click of arms, and the figure of an officer passed before the casement.
"This must be the place," she heard him say, addressing a companion who walked behind him.
"What do you want?" asked the widow, opening the door.
"You have strangers here; we wish to see them," replied the officer.
"Ah, ça! don't you recognize me?" interrupted Marianne Picaut, avoiding a direct reply.
"Yes; of course, I recognize you. You are the woman who served us as guide last night."
"Well, if I guided you in search of the enemies of the government, it isn't likely I should be hiding them here now, is it?"
"That's logical enough, isn't it, captain?" said the second officer.