Camors, exhausted by his long ride, felt suffocated by the atmosphere of the hut, and consented to the suggestion of the old man, saying that he would not go far.
As he put his foot outside of the cottage, Madame de Tecle, who was sitting before the door, quickly rose and threw over his shoulders a cloak which they had brought for her. She then reseated herself without speaking.
“But you can not remain here all night,” he said.
“I should be too uneasy at home.”
“But the night is very cold—shall I make you a fire?”
“If you wish,” she said.
“Let us see where we can make this little fire. In the midst of this wood it is impossible—we should have a conflagration to finish the picture. Can you walk?
“Then take my arm, and we shall go and search for a place for our encampment.”
She leaned lightly on his arm, and took a few steps with him toward the forest.
“Do you think they are saved?” she asked.