slept," she thought, seeing by the
light of the candles that the hands of the clock were pointing to two in
the morning. She turned and looked at the sleeping marquis, lying like a
child with his head on one hand, the other clasping his wife's hand, his
lips half smiling as though he had fallen asleep while she kissed him.

"Ah!" she whispered to herself, "he sleeps like an infant; he does not
distrust me--me, to whom he has given a happiness without a name."

She touched him softly and he woke, continuing to smile. He kissed the
hand he held and looked at the wretched woman with eyes so sparkling
that she could not endure their light and slowly lowered her large
eyelids. Her husband might justly have accused her of coquetry if she
were not concealing the terrors of her soul by thus evading the fire of
his looks. Together they raised their charming heads and made each other
a sign of gratitude for the pleasures they had tasted; but after a rapid
glance at the beautiful picture his wife presented, the marquis was
struck with an expression on her face which seemed to him melancholy,
and he said in a tender voice, "Why sad, dear love?"

"Poor Alphonse," she answered, "do you know to what I have led you?"

"To happiness."

"To death!"

Shuddering with horror she sprang from the bed; the marquis, astonished,
followed her. His wife motioned him to a window and raised the curtain,
pointing as she did so to a score of soldiers. The moon had scattered
the fog and was now casting her white light on the muskets and the
uniforms, on the impassible Corentin pacing up and down like a jackal
waiting for his prey, on the commandant, standing still, his arms
crossed, his nose in the air, his lips curling, watchful and displeased.

"Come, Marie, leave them and come back to me."

"Why do you smile? I placed them there."

"You are dreaming."

"No."

They looked at each other for a moment. The marquis divined the whole
truth, and he took her in his arms. "No matter!" he said, "I love you
still."

"All is not lost!" cried Marie, "it cannot be! Alphonse," she said after
a pause, "there is hope."

At this moment they distinctly heard the owl's cry, and Francine entered
from the dressing-room.

"Pierre has come!" she said with a joy that was like delirium.

The marquise and Francine dressed Montauran in Chouan clothes with that
amazing rapidity that belongs only to women. As soon as Marie saw her
husband loading the gun Franc