It seemed to me like a sob of despair, or of the breaking down of patience, and, knowing what I did already, I quickly imagined it to proceed from the Countess in a moment when she was beginning to lose hope of Monsieur de Merri's arrival. To me, therefore, it seemed a stab of reproach.
I judged that it came by way of the window below me. So forthwith, at all hazards, sheltering myself from outside view as well as I could with the casement, I thrust my head out over the sill, and said in a low tone:
"Madame."
I waited for some moments, with a beating heart, and then called again, "Madame."
I thought I heard whispering below. Then a head was thrust out of the window—a woman's head, soft haired and shapely. "Here I am," I whispered. The head twisted round, and the face was that of the young woman who had received the messenger at the postern the day before. But it was clear that she had not been sobbing, though her face wore a look of concern.
"I must speak with Madame the Countess," said I, and added what I thought would most expedite matters: "I bring news of Monsieur de Merri."
The head disappeared: there was more whispering: then the maid looked out again, using similar precautions to mine with regard to the casement.
"Who are you, Monsieur?" she asked.
"I will explain all later. There is little time now. I may soon be looked for. Contrive to let me have an interview with Madame the Countess. I don't know how to get to her: I'm not acquainted with the chateau."
"Put your head a little further out, Monsieur,—so that I can see your face."