"Oh! mon Dieu!" said Isaure, falling on her knees, and raising her hands to heaven; "I am most unhappy, assuredly; but if, by remaining in this place, I save my protector’s life, and his son’s, I shall not complain, and I submit to my fate without a murmur."
Touched by the girl’s demeanor, the vagabond allowed her sometimes to breathe the fresh air in front of the hovel; at such times Charlot kept watch at some little distance; and at the slightest sound, at the approach of any person, Isaure and her companion would return to the inner house. But it rarely happened that a traveller passed along that rocky path, which was at a distance from all the travelled roads. In the fortnight that she had been in the house, Isaure had seen only a few goats, which had shown their heads over the edge of the hole, in which her abode was situated; but no murmur escaped the lips of her who was now leading such a melancholy existence. She seemed to be submissive to her fate; and if she sometimes uttered Edouard’s name, it was because she believed herself to be alone, because she thought that she was musing when she pronounced her lover’s name.
At such times, to comfort the poor child, the author of her misfortunes said to her coldly:
"Your Edouard would have been no better than the rest; his love would have passed away, because everything passes away in this life; and then he would have deceived and abandoned you, or else he would have repented marrying you and would have reproached you harshly."
Isaure made no reply; but she did not believe that Edouard would have behaved thus; her heart told her that he would always have loved her dearly; that, although he no longer saw her, he constantly thought of her; that idea was the last consolation, the last ray of happiness that the poor child had; why should she not try to retain it?
In the long hours which she passed in solitude, she was always thinking of Edouard; sometimes she involuntarily called him; perhaps all hope was not banished from her heart; but when her courage failed her, when she felt more keenly the horror of her new existence, she took from her breast the locket which she kept carefully hidden there; and, after assuring herself that she was quite alone, that no one could see her, she covered with kisses the portrait which she had been told was her mother’s, and which she had sworn never to show to anyone. Indeed, she had no idea that the sight of that beloved image could possess any interest to those with whom she was condemned to pass her life.
Three weeks had passed since Isaure had been taken to Charlot’s house; during that time, only two shepherds had appeared in the neighborhood, and they had not entered the narrow path, but had followed the road which passed at the end of it. So the vagabond believed that although he was only twelve leagues at most from the White House, his captive was more difficult to find than if he had taken her into another province.
Isaure was seated on the bench in front of the outer house; it was mid-day, but the weather was bad and no one was likely to be tempted to travel through the mountains. However, the old shepherd was keeping watch on a cliff near by, and the vagabond himself, who was a few yards away from Isaure, also watched keenly.
Suddenly, old Charlot gave the signal agreed upon to warn him of someone’s approach. The vagabond hastily entered the hovel with the girl, and soon the old shepherd joined them there.
"What is it?" the vagabond asked Charlot.