Suddenly, however, he, Maurice and Jean, rose to their feet. Some one was running down the road, and they had distinctly heard the old man cock his gun. 'Who goes there?' called Fouchard, in a harsh voice. 'Is it you, Silvine?'
There was no answer, and he repeated his question, threatening to fire. Then an oppressed, panting voice managed to articulate: 'Yes, yes, it's I, father Fouchard.' And immediately afterwards the girl inquired: 'And Charlot?'
'He's in bed and asleep.'
'Oh! all right then—thanks!' Thereupon she no longer hastened, but heaved a deep sigh, in which she exhaled all her weariness and anguish.
'Get in by the window,' resumed Fouchard. 'There's some one inside.'
Springing into the room, she stopped short in surprise at sight of the three men. In the flickering candle-light she appeared before them, very dark-complexioned, with thick black hair, and with large, lovely eyes, that sufficed to render her beautiful, lighting up her oval face, which usually wore an expression of submissive tranquillity. But the sudden sight of Honoré had now brought all the blood in her heart to her cheeks, albeit she was not astonished to find him there, for she had been thinking of him whilst running back from Raucourt.
He was choking, and felt extremely faint, but he affected great calmness.
'Good evening, Silvine.'
'Good evening, Honoré.'