She went out of the orangery.
The night was falling. The gates had been re-opened; and the showmen, having dismantled their shows, were departing. Dorothy found Saint-Quentin waiting for her in great anxiety and the three children lighting a fire. When the dinner-bell rang, she sent them to the château and remained alone to make her meal of the thick soup and some fruit. In the evening, while waiting for them, she strolled through the night towards the parapet which looked down on to the ravine and rested her elbows on it.
The moon was not visible, but the veil of light clouds, which floated across the heavens, were imbued with its light. For a long while she was conscious of the deep silence, and, bare-headed, she presented her burning brow to the fresh evening airs which ruffled her hair.
"Dorothy...."
Her name had been spoken in a low voice by some one who had drawn near her without her hearing him. But the sound of his voice, low as it was, made her tremble. Even before recognizing the outline of d'Estreicher she divined his presence.
Had the parapet been lower and the ravine less profound she might have essayed flight, such dread did this man inspire in her. However, she braced herself to keep calm and master him.
"What do you want, monsieur," she said coldly. "The Count and Countess had the delicacy to respect my desire to keep quiet. I'm surprised to see you here."
He did not answer, but she discerned his dark shape nearer and repeated:
"What do you want?"