“Mon Dieu!� he murmured softly, “how terrible it would have been. The sentinels told me that there were two hundred and fifty women and children there, besides the men who came with Cavalier.�
“It would have been death,� she said dreamily; “we can die but once, monsieur.�
“You would not have died,� he answered sternly, “while I had a life to give for yours.�
She was silent, but he felt her hand quiver in his. He could not see her face, nor could she see his, but each felt the other’s deep emotion. They walked on, treading carefully; they were skirting the edge of a field of rye on the border of the village of St. Césaire, but they had yet to cross a rocky elevation before they could reach the château. To the left, the lights of the hamlet twinkled like fallen stars, and they heard the dogs baying in the distance.
Meanwhile the sky, which had been so dark, became softly luminous, a whiteness spread over it, the stars paled. At the horizon, the mountains were sharply outlined, black against the growing light, while the earth lay in darkness. Rosaline and her companions began to ascend a steep path, and as they reached the top of the slope the moon rose glorious and a flood of white light poured a searching radiance over the scene. The white rocks cast black shadows, and the sandy soil beneath their feet seemed as white as chalk, while above them a solitary cedar stretched its branches, dark and feathery, against a luminous background. Over there were the spires and turrets of Nîmes, below them the cottage roofs of St. Césaire, around them a wild and barren country, suddenly whitened by the moon.
“Mon Dieu!� exclaimed Babet, harshly, “’tis a white night—white as a winding-sheet! ’Tis ill luck, mademoiselle; let us hurry—a dog is baying at the moon.�
Rosaline’s mood changed, and for the first time that night she laughed naturally and sweetly.
“You foolish Babet!� she said, “it is a glorious night, and you have been to prayers. Where is your courage?�
Babet shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve courage enough, mademoiselle,� she said, “but I do not love to thrust my head into the lion’s mouth.�
With this remark she went on again, leaving the others to follow. To Babet there were many things more important than a fine scene by moonlight, and she did not approve of the slow progress made by her mistress and her escort.