of the moat beneath her
window.

Stricken with a sudden, inexplicable terror, the Dowager, who for
all her spirit was not without a certain superstition, felt her knees
loosen, and she sank limply into a chair. She was amazed at the extent
of Valerie's knowledge, and puzzled by it; she was amazed, too, at the
seeming apathy of Valerie for the danger in which Florimond stood, and
at her avowal that she did not care if she never again beheld him. But
such amazement as came to her was whelmed fathoms-deep in her sudden
fears for Marius. If he should die! She grew cold at the thought, and
she sat there, her hands folded in her lap, her face grey. That mention
of the curse the Church had put upon them had frozen her quick blood and
turned her stout spirit to mere water.

At last she rose and went out into the open to inquire if no messenger
had yet arrived, for all that she knew there was not yet time for any
messenger to have reached the chateau. She mounted the winding staircase
of stone that led to the ramparts, and there alone, in the November
sunshine, she paced to and fro for hours, waiting for news, straining
her eyes to gaze up the valley of the Isere, watching for the horseman
that must come that way. Then, as time sped on and the sun approached
its setting and still no one came, she bethought her that if harm had
befallen Marius, none would ride that night to Condillac. This very
delay seemed pregnant with news of disaster. And then she shook off her
fears and tried to comfort herself. There was not yet time. Besides,
what had she to fear for Marius? He was strong and quick, and Fortunio
was by his side. A man was surely dead by now at La Rochette; but that
man could not be Marius.

At last, in the distance, she espied a moving object, and down on the
silent air of eventide came the far-off rattle of a horse's hoofs. Some
one was riding, galloping that way. He was returned at last. She leaned
on the battlements, her breath coming in quick, short gasps, and watched
the horseman growing larger with every stride of his horse.

A mist was rising from the river, and it dimmed the figure; and she
cursed the mist for heightening her anxiety, for straining further
her impatience. Then a new fear was begotten in her mind. Why came one
horseman only where two should have ridden? Who was it that returned,
and what had befallen his companion? God send, at least, it might be
Marius who rode thus, at such a breakneck pace.