“Oh, I—I will return to the apartment where my maid and Mademoiselle de Cadillac are sleeping,” and she made a little motion towards another door, almost hidden in the shadow.
There was a step at the door, and we saw the sentry enter and pause to glance about the room. For an instant I was certain he had seen us, so intently did he look towards the corner where we were, but at last he passed on again.
I felt that the hand I held close in mine was trembling.
“You see the folly of delay, Monsieur,” she panted. “You must go,—they must not retake you,—better to die fighting than to wait for death at Marleon! Ah, you do not know!” and she drew her hand from mine and pressed it for a moment to her eyes. How fair, how sweet she was! How I trembled to take her in my arms! “Adieu, Monsieur. My prayers go with you.”
“And only your prayers, Mademoiselle?” I whispered, my heart on fire.
“Go, go!” she repeated, and held out her hand.
I caught it in both of mine and pressed it to my lips.
“Again I say, Mademoiselle, that this is not the last time,” and I held tightly to the hand, which she would have drawn away. “I understand nothing of how you came to be awaiting us at the inn back yonder, but I know that it is fate which has thrown us together twice already. The third time we shall not part so quickly.”
And again she shook her head as she had in the Rue Gogard.
“I have not your confidence in fate, Monsieur,” she said. “Believe me, you must go. If you will not consider your own peril, think of mine.”