“By the way of a tree, the branch of which reaches to the window.”
“The land baron was in this room a moment ago. Where is he now?”
For answer Saint-Prosper pointed to the window.
“Then you let him––”
“We’re wasting time,” impatiently shouted the barn-burner who had disclaimed the soldier’s identity to the patroon. “Come!” With an oath. “Do you want to lose him after all? He can’t be far away. And this one, damn him! isn’t our man!”
For a second the crowd wavered, then with a vengeful shout they shot from the room, disappearing as quickly as they had come. Led by Little Thunder, who, being a man of peace, had discreetly remained without, they had reached the gate in their headlong pursuit when they were met by a body of horsemen, about to turn into the yard as the anti-renters were hurrying out. At sight of this formidable band, the lease-holders immediately scattered. Taken equally by surprise, the others made little effort to intercept them and soon they had vanished over field and down dell. Then the horsemen turned, rode through the avenue of trees, and drew up noisily before the portico.
From their window the soldier and his companion observed the abrupt encounter at the entrance of the manor grounds and the dispersion of the lease-holders like leaves before the autumn gusts. Constance, who had breathlessly watched the flight of the erstwhile 187 assailants, felt her doubts reawakened as the horsemen drew up before the door.
“Are they coming back?” she asked, involuntarily clasping the arm of her companion.
She who had been so courageous and self-controlled throughout that long, trying day, on a sudden felt strangely weak and dependent. He leaned from the narrow casement to command the view below, striving to pierce the gloom, and she, following his example, gazed over his shoulder. Either a gust of air had extinguished the light in the candelabra on the mantel, or the tallow dip had burnt itself out, for the room was now in total darkness so that they could dimly see, without being seen.