“The scouts, citizen,” replied the sergeant, who had been riding close to the coach door all this while; “they have returned.”
“Tell one man to come straight to me and report.”
Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt neither fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting of the horse close by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside the carriage door.
“Well?” said Chauvelin curtly.
“This is the cross-road, citizen,” replied the man; “it strikes straight into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in the valley on the right.”
“Did you follow the road in the wood?”
“Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling among the trees. Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wrought-iron gates at the corner, and from these a wide drive leads through a park.”
“Did you turn into the drive?”
“Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that all is safe.”
“You saw no one?”