“What, Gregoire?”—were her husband present it would be “Père;” but she is alone—“Who’s gone away? And why am I to rejoice?”
“Le Capitaine.”
“Ha!” she ejaculates, with a pleased look, showing that the two words have answered all her questions in one.
“Are you sure of it? The news seems too good for truth.”
“It’s true, nevertheless; so far as his having gone away. Whether to stay away is another matter. We must hope he will.”
“I hope it with all my heart.”
“And well you may, madame; as I myself. We had more to fear from that chien de chasse than all the rest of the pack—ay, have still, unless he’s found the scent too cold, and in despair abandoned the pursuit; which I fancy he has, thrown off by that little rock-slide. A lucky chance my having caught him at his reconnaissance; and rather a clever bit of strategy so to baffle him! Wasn’t it, chérie?”
“Superb! The whole thing from beginning to end! You’ve proved yourself a wonderful man, Gregoire Rogier.”
“And I hope worthy of Olympe Renault?”
“You have.”