“Our wedding will take place in a week—I am sure of it.”
Then as she remained overwhelmed, he grew grave again and said:
“But what ails you? You are concealing something from me!”
“No; I swear it to you. I am out of breath from running.”
He embraced her, saying that it was imprudent for them to be talking, and he wished to climb out of the ditch to return to the forest. She restrained him. She trembled.
“Listen,” she said: “it would, perhaps, be wise for you to remain where you are. No one is searching for you; you have nothing to fear.”
“Francoise, you are concealing something from me,” he repeated.
Again she swore that she was hiding nothing. She had simply wished to know that he was near her. And she stammered forth still further reasons. She seemed so strange to him that he now could not be induced to flee. Besides, he had faith in the return of the French. Troops had been seen in the direction of Sauval.
“Ah, let them hurry; let them get here as soon as possible,” she murmured fervently.
At that moment eleven o’clock sounded from the belfry of Rocreuse. The strokes were clear and distinct. She arose with a terrified look; two hours had passed since she quitted the mill.