The boy went with him a little way and showed him the steep street which led to the Porte Saint-Leonard. “That way,” he said.
At this moment four men entered Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s house, unseen by either the boy or Corentin.
“Return to your watch,” said the latter. “Play with the handles of the blinds and see what you can inside; look about you everywhere, even on the roof.”
Corentin darted rapidly in the direction given him, and thought he recognized Mademoiselle de Verneuil through the fog; he did, in fact, overtake her just as she reached the guard-house.
“Where are you going?” he said; “you are pale—what has happened? Is it right for you to be out alone? Take my arm.”
“Where is the commandant?” she asked.
Hardly had the words left her lips when she heard the movement of troops beyond the Porte Saint-Leonard and distinguished Hulot’s gruff voice in the tumult.
“God’s thunder!” he cried, “I never saw such fog as this for a reconnaissance! The Gars must have ordered the weather.”
“What are you complaining of?” said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, grasping his arm. “The fog will cover vengeance as well as perfidy. Commandant,” she added, in a low voice, “you must take measures at once so that the Gars may not escape us.”
“Is he at your house?” he asked, in a tone which showed his amazement.