Only when we came out into the moonlight at the top did she draw away from me and fling herself into the arms of madame, who embraced her tenderly and kissed her again and again.
The tower was battlemented, so that we could look down upon the château and the grounds surrounding it without danger of being seen by any one below. As M. le Comte and I peered down together I was suddenly conscious of some one else beside me, and turned to see that it was Pasdeloup. In the stress of flight I had quite forgotten him. With a little feeling of remorse I held out my hand and gripped his great rough one silently, then turned again to a contemplation of the scene below.
But down there all was dark and silent. Not a candle gleamed from the windows; not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. It seemed almost that there had been no attack—that it was all a dream—a fancy—that we had fled from shadows.
“Can they have gone?” I asked. “Is it possible that not finding us they have returned to Dange?”
“You forget,” said M. le Comte, grimly, “that single musket shot which almost reached one of us. Depend upon it, they know that we are here.”
“For what are they waiting, then?”
“They are preparing a plan of attack no doubt. They are trying to devise a way to get past that iron door down yonder. They know they have no cause to hurry.”
Pasdeloup suddenly held up his hand.
“Listen!” he said.
For a moment I heard nothing—only the insect noises of the night; then from afar off came a sound as of bees swarming—a faint hum, vague, threatening, incomprehensible. Louder it grew and louder, swelling into a kind of roar, as though a great flood were sweeping toward us down the valley of the river. Then suddenly the roar burst forth in overpowering volume; it grew strident, articulate. Lights danced among the trees, and in a moment more a shrieking, cursing mob poured out upon the road, through the gates and over the lawn.