"What will they say to each other, now they are together? What will they do?"
'Faith, dear Nanon, you embarrass me sorely by putting such a question to me; they will—pardieu! they will love each other dearly, I suppose."
"Oh! that shall not be!" cried Nanon, frantically gnawing at her nails, which shone like polished ivory.
"On the contrary, I fancy that it will be," rejoined Cauvignac. "Ferguzon has orders to let no one come out, but not to keep anybody out. At this moment, in all probability, the viscountess and Baron de Canolles are exchanging all sorts of endearing terms, each more charming than the last. Peste! dear Nanon, you are too late."
"Do you think so?" retorted the young woman with an indefinable expression of irony and malignant cunning; "do you think so? Very good; just come in and sit beside me, you wretched diplomatist."
Cauvignac obeyed.
"Bertrand," said Nanon to one of her retainers, "tell the coachman to turn quietly about, and draw up under the clump of trees we left at the right as we entered the village.—Won't that be a safe place to talk?" she asked Cauvignac.
"There could be no better. But permit me to take a few precautions on my own account."
"Go on."
Cauvignac made signs to four of his men, who were strutting about the inn, buzzing and puffing like hornets in the sun, to follow him.