What could it mean? What was the object of this midnight expedition?
Then my heart stood still. The soldiers had entered the garden and were advancing cautiously in the shadow of the hedge. The grass muffled their footsteps, but now and then gun clanked against bayonet, or scabbard against boot. I sat where I was, quite secure in my clump of evergreens, straining my ears, my eyes, trying to understand. I could just discern the squad as it approached, halted, moved on again; and each time it left behind it a dim figure, stationary in the shadow. As I stared, the leader came suddenly into a patch of moonlight. His face was turned toward the château, and instantly I recognized the rough countenance, the fierce mustachios of Dubosq.
In a flash I understood. They were after M. le Comte. They were posting sentries about the house. Dubosq was making sure that this time his quarry would not break through the trap.
I started to my feet, then instantly sank back again, for the squad was almost upon me. I must get to the house; I must warn M. le Comte; yet to attempt it at this moment was to invite disaster, not only for myself, but for him. I must wait; I must watch my chance; I must get to the house unseen. Dubosq must not suspect our knowledge of his movements. I could picture the fierce joy which filled him at the thought that his hour of vengeance was at hand.
Still the squad came forward. At last it halted so close behind me that I might almost have stretched out my hand and touched the nearest man. I crouched low in the seat and sat with bated breath.
“You understand,” Dubosq’s voice said, “you are to remain here until you hear the cry of an owl thrice repeated. You will then advance toward the château as quietly as possible and keeping in touch with the other sentries. If any man attempts to leave the house or to enter it, and refuses to halt at your challenge, do not hesitate, but shoot him instantly.”
“And the women?”
“The women are not to be harmed—that is imperative. They must not escape, but the man who injures them shall answer for it.”
“They are aristocrats, like the others,” growled the sentry.
“That is true,” agreed Dubosq; “but Citizen Goujon hopes to convert them.”