Marcel arose eagerly. He thought, “It is Milona, sent by Madame Vignola. Something has happened.” In a trice he was out of the room.
Baudoin followed him with ill-pleased look.
“How he runs off to meet her! Ah, that crafty woman holds him tight indeed! And this servant, who looks like a gipsy! This kind of company does not inspire confidence in one!”
Marcel, on reaching the porter’s lodge, had found Milona there, as he had conjectured. Drawing her aside, he asked anxiously—
“No harm has befallen Madame Vignola?”
“No; I am with her all the time. But my mistress is uneasy for your sake. She heard cries and threats, and saw flashes of light through the darkness of the night. She well knows what these mad acts of folly committed by an angry mob mean, and would like to see you and have you explain the meaning of all this tumult.”
“May I go to her at once?”
“She is expecting you every minute.”
He gave a gesture expressive of the joy he felt.
“Then start back at once. We must not be seen crossing the plain together. In a few minutes I will follow you. Tell this to your mistress.”