Rosaline had walked but a little way, when the dog sprang forward with a quick, short bark of welcome, and she saw a man coming toward her. At the sight of his face she stood still, her own turning from white to red. A moment ago she had thought of him as perhaps lying in some loathsome dungeon in Nîmes, or dead, and this sudden meeting took away her self-control; she was trembling when he came up. Looking at her, he read more in her eyes than he had dared to hope for.
“I have come to assure myself of your safety, mademoiselle,� he said quietly, “and then to go away again.�
“Babet is in Nîmes now, monsieur, trying to find out the names of the prisoners,� Rosaline replied. “We did not know what had happened and we feared the worst.�
“It was a short, sharp battle,� he said. “We took some ammunition, but they brought up reinforcements from Nîmes and we were forced to fall back. Cavalier is a soldier, indeed.�
“M. de Baudri was at the château,� she rejoined. “He told us of the dead and the prisoners, and my grandmother could not rest until she knew.�
There was a pause, and he watched her face.
“And you, mademoiselle?� he asked gravely.
Her eyes sought the ground.
“I also was anxious, monsieur,� she said with an effort.
“Yet last night you wished me to go,� he remarked, unmercifully.