told how he had been stopped in the Rue des Bons Enfants by a band of
robbers, whose lieutenant, a ferocious-looking man nearly six feet high,
had wanted to kill him, when the captain had come and saved his life.
Bathilde listened with rapt attention, first, because she loved her
guardian sincerely, and that his condition showed that--right or
wrong--he had been greatly terrified; next, because nothing that
happened that night seemed indifferent to her; and, strange as the idea
was, it seemed to her that the handsome young man was not wholly
unconnected with the scene in which Buvat had just played a part. She
asked him if he had time to observe the face of the young man who had
come to his aid, and saved his life.

Buvat answered that he had seen him face to face, as he saw her at that
moment, and that the proof was that he was a handsome young man of from
five to six and twenty, in a large felt hat, and wrapped in a cloak;
moreover, in the movement which he had made in stretching out his hand
to protect him, the cloak had opened, and shown that, besides his sword,
he carried a pair of pistols in his belt. These details were too precise
to allow Buvat to be accused of dreaming. Preoccupied as Bathilde was
with the danger which the chevalier ran, she was none the less touched
by that, smaller no doubt, but still real, which Buvat had just escaped;
and as repose is the best remedy for all shocks, physical or moral,
after offering him the glass of wine and sugar which he allowed himself
on great occasions, and which nevertheless he refused on this one, she
reminded him of his bed, where he ought to have been two hours before.

The shock had been violent enough to deprive Buvat of all wish for
sleep, and even to convince him that he should sleep badly that night;
but he reflected that in sitting up he should force Bathilde to sit up,
and should see her in the morning with red eyes and pale cheeks, and,
with his usual sacrifice of self, he told Bathilde that she was
right--that he felt that sleep would do him good--lit his candle--kissed
her forehead--and went up to his own room; not without stopping two or
three times on the staircase to hear if there was any noise.

Left alone, Bathilde listened to the steps of Buvat, who went up into
his own room; then she heard the creaking of his door, which he double
locked; then, almost as trembling as Buvat himself, she ran to the
window, forgetting even to pray.

She remained t