"She is yonder."
He turned as he spoke; and I saw behind him a heavy curtain hiding the oriel window of the lobby. It moved while I looked, and Mademoiselle emerged from its folds, her small, childish face pale, but strangely composed. She wore a light, loose robe, hastily arranged, and had her hair hanging free at her back. In the gloom and confusion, which the feeble candles did little to disperse, she did not at first see me.
"Has Gargouf come back?" she asked.
"No, Mademoiselle, but----"
The man was going to point me out; she interrupted him with a sharp cry of anger.
"Stop these fools," she said. "Oh, stop these fools! I cannot hear myself speak. Let some one call Gargouf! Is there no one to do anything?"
One of the old men pottered off to do it, leaving her standing in the middle of the terror-stricken group; a white pathetic little figure, keeping fear at bay with both hands. The dark curtains behind threw her face and form into high relief; but admiration was the last thought in my mind.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you must fly by the garden door."
She started and stared at me, her eyes dilating.
"Monsieur de Saux," she muttered. "Are you here? I do not--I do not understand. I thought----"