which rose to her throat in waves. She stopped, rested her hand against
a tree, and watched the smoke which was serving as a beacon to the foes
as well as to the friends of the young chieftain. Never had she felt
such overwhelming emotion.

"Ah! I love him too much," she said, with a sort of despair. "To-day,
perhaps, I shall no longer be mistress of myself--"

She hurried over the distance which separated her from the cottage,
and reached the courtyard, the filth of which was now stiffened by the
frost. The big dog sprang up barking, but a word from Galope-Chopine
silenced him and he wagged his tail. As she entered the house Marie
gave a look which included everything. The marquis was not there. She
breathed more freely, and saw with pleasure that the Chouan had taken
some pains to clean the dirty and only room in his hovel. He now took
his duck-gun, bowed silently to his guest and left the house, followed
by his dog. Marie went to the threshold of the door and watched him as
he took the path to the right of his hut. From there she could overlook
a series of fields, the curious openings to which formed a perspective
of gates; for the leafless trees and hedges were no longer a barrier to
a full view of the country. When the Chouan's broad hat was out of
sight Mademoiselle de Verneuil turned round to look for the church at
Fougeres, but the shed concealed it. She cast her eyes over the valley
of the Couesnon, which lay before her like a vast sheet of muslin, the
whiteness of which still further dulled a gray sky laden with snow. It
was one of those days when nature seems dumb and noises are absorbed by
the atmosphere. Therefore, though the Blues and their contingent were
marching through the country in three lines, forming a triangle which
drew together as they neared the cottage, the silence was so profound
that Mademoiselle de Verneuil was overcome by a presentiment which added
a sort of physical pain to her mental torture. Misfortune was in the
air.

At last, in a spot where a little curtain of wood closed the perspective
of gates, she saw a young man jumping the barriers like a squirrel and
running with astonishing rapidity. "It is he!" she thought.

The Gars was dressed as a Chouan, with a musket slung from his shoulder
over his goatskin, and would have been quite disguised were it not for
the grace of his movements. Marie withdrew hastily into the cottage,
obeying one of those instinctive promptings which are as