“Marie-Anne,” he replied, slowly, “knows her duty too well not to obey when I command. When I tell her the motive that governs my conduct, she will become resigned; and if she suffers, she will know how to conceal her sufferings.”
He paused suddenly. They heard in the distance a firing of musketry, the discharge of rifles, whose sharp ring overpowered even the sullen roar of cannon.
Every face grew pale. Circumstances imparted to these sounds an ominous significance.
With the same anguish clutching the hearts of both, M. d’Escorval and Lacheneur sprang out upon the terrace.
But all was still again. Extended as was the horizon, the eye could discern nothing unusual. The sky was blue; not a particle of smoke hung over the trees.
“It is the enemy,” muttered M. Lacheneur, in a tone which told how gladly he would have shouldered his gun, and, with five hundred others, marched against the united allies.
He paused. The explosions were repeated with still greater violence, and for a period of five minutes succeeded each other without cessation.
M. d’Escorval listened with knitted brows.
“That is not the fire of an engagement,” he murmured.
To remain long in such a state of uncertainty was out of the question.