"Yes."
For a moment or two longer the two women stood looking keenly into one another's eyes. The vast château was solitary and still; not a sound came from within, and the heavy doors shut out effectually all the many sounds which fill the air on a warm, midsummer afternoon: the call of thrush and blackbird, the distant croaking of frogs and cooing of wood-pigeons, the flutter of parched leaves upon the tiny boughs and tripping of unseen little beasts through thicket and shrubbery.
It was Madame whose eyes were the first to veil themselves behind their heavy lids, in order to conceal the thoughts within from the searching gaze of the younger woman. The next moment Fernande was free to go; Madame no longer held her wrist.
"I will not ask you again, my child, whither you are going," she said quietly. "Since first the rising nations were torn between conflicting parties of men who had divergent aims there have been traitors as well as heroes in the world."
"Ma tante...."
"Listen to me, my child, for at this supreme moment of your whole existence you are standing at the parting of the ways, at the cross-roads where many a woman has stood before you, hesitating at the two turnings which faced her on the tortuous path of life. Many a woman before you has taken the wrong turning, Fernande. Take care that you do not do the same and for ever after weep endless tears of remorse and of shame."
"I would indeed weep bitter tears, ma tante," retorted the girl firmly, "if I were to allow the monstrous outrage to be perpetrated which that dastardly wretch hath even now set out to do."
"You rave, Fernande," rejoined Madame quietly, "and 'tis not my purpose to probe into the thoughts which are leading you at this moment into the path of treachery."
"There is no treachery, ma tante, in warning an unsuspecting man that a murderer's hand is raised against him in the dark."