"I think mademoiselle does not understand it, either."
With a little cry, she snatched her hand from him, hiding it in the folds of her kirtle, regarding him with open terror. He softened somewhat at sight of her distress.
"Well, it's none of my business if a lady chooses to be masquerading round the streets at night with a porter and a lackey. I don't know what your purpose is—I don't ask to know. But I'm here to keep my gate, and I'll keep it. Go try to wheedle the officer at the Porte Neuve."
In helpless obedience, glad of even so much leniency, we turned away—to face a tall, grizzled veteran in a colonel's shoulder-straps. With a dragoon at his back, he had come so softly out of a side alley that not even the captain had marked him.
"What's this, Guilbert?" he demanded.
"Some folks seeking to get through the gates, sir. I've just turned them away."
"What were you saying about the Porte Neuve?"
"I said they could go see how that gate is kept. I showed them how this is."
"Why must you pass through at this time of night?" said the commanding officer, civilly. Gilles once again bemoaned the dying mother. The young captain, eager to prove his fidelity, interrupted him:
"I believe that's a fairy-tale, sir. There's something queer about these people. The girl says she is a grocer's servant, and has hands like a duchess's."