“Your night-drink is set out,” said the maid: “your dresses folded up and the night-light lit. As I must be up early, can I go to bed now?”
“Yes,” replied Andrea, absently.
Nicole went out and glided into the garden.
Gilbert was looking out for her as he promised himself he would do, and saw her go up to the gates where she passed the master key to Beausire, who was ready. The gate was opened and the girl slipped through. The gate was locked again and the key thrown over, where Gilbert noticed its place of falling on the sward.
He drew a long breath in relief for he was quit of Nicole, an enemy. Andrea was left alone, and he might penetrate to her room.
This idea set his blood boiling with all the fury of fear and disquiet, curiosity and desire.
But, as he placed his foot on the lowest stairs of the flight leading to Andrea’s corridor, he beheld her, garbed in white, at the top step, coming down.
So white and solemn was she that he recoiled, and buried himself in a copse.
Once before, at Taverney, he had seen her thus walking in her sleep, when she was, without his suspecting it, under the mesmeric influence of Balsamo, the Magician.
Andrea passed Gilbert, almost touched him but did not see him.