“M. le Comte!” I cried. “Madame!” But my eyes were only for that other face, gray and dreary in the cold light of the morning. She had been staring listlessly at the ground, but at sound of my voice she started round upon me, her face white as death.
“Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte, a great light in his eyes. “And Pasdeloup! Ah, I understand now why you lingered!” and he held out a hand to each of us. “We thought you dead! We thought the flames had caught you!”
“Come,” said Pasdeloup. “This is no time for words.”
“You are right,” agreed his master. “Tavernay, I again entrust Charlotte to you.”
I crossed to her, took her hands in mine and drew her to me.
“I thought you dead,” she murmured, raising brimming eyes to mine. “I thought you had stayed too long;” and I felt how she was trembling.
“Come!” cried Pasdeloup again; “there is a hiding-place, if we can only reach it;” and he glanced anxiously over his shoulder.
I drew my love forward, my arm still about her.
“We are going to escape,” I murmured in her ear. “We are going to be very happy. God intends it.”
She looked up into my eyes and smiled tremulously. I could guess how near she was to absolute exhaustion and did my best to shield her. Our way for a time led over a smooth meadow, then we plunged into the rocky bed of a brook which mounted so steeply that our progress was very slow. The way grew more and more rough, great boulders blocked the path, and on either side the banks of the torrent rose abruptly to a height of many feet.