"Monsieur," she said, "if you do not find him within a few minutes, I entreat that you will not put yourself to further discomfort. See, it is already nearly dark. If he be lost in the woods for the night, he can doubtless find his way hither tomorrow."
"I shall not seek long, mademoiselle, for the reason that I would not be long away from you."
At that moment, feeling under my foot something different from leaves or earth, I stooped and found one of mademoiselle's gloves, which she had dropped, probably, on first entering the inn. Remaining in my kneeling posture and looking up at her sweet, sad face, I said:
"Whatever may come in the future, mademoiselle, circumstance has made me your faithful chevalier for a day. Will you not give me some badge of service that I may wear forever in memory of that sweet, though sorrowful day?"
"Keep what you have in your hand," she replied, in a low voice, and pointed to her glove.
I rose, and fastened the glove on my hat, and said: "They shall find it on me when I am dead, mademoiselle." Then I turned to go in search of Pierre.
"I shall go to my room now," she said, "and so, good-night, monsieur!"
I turned, and made to take her hand that I might kiss it, but she drew it away, and then, standing on the threshold, she raised it as one does in bestowing a benedicite, and said:
"God watch you through the night, monsieur!"
"And you forever, mademoiselle!" said I, but she had gone. For a moment I stood looking up at her chamber window, thinking how it had come over me again, as in the days of my youth, the longing to be near one woman.