If, before you reach a place of safety, you meet that odious man you
saw in my company at the inn, escape at once, for he will instantly
betray you. As for me,--" she paused, "as for me, I fling myself back
into the miseries of life. Farewell, monsieur, may you be happy;
farewell."
She made a sign to Captain Merle, who was just then reaching the brow
of the hill behind her. The marquis was taken unawares by her sudden
action.
"Stop!" he cried, in a tone of despair that was well acted.
This singular caprice of a girl for whom he would at that instant have
thrown away his life so surprised him that he invented, on the spur of
the moment, a fatal fiction by which to hide his name and satisfy the
curiosity of his companion.
"You have almost guessed the truth," he said. "I am an /emigre/,
condemned to death, and my name is Vicomte de Bauvan. Love of my
country has brought me back to France to join my brother. I hope to be
taken off the list of /emigres/ through the influence of Madame de
Beauharnais, now the wife of the First Consul; but if I fail in this,
I mean to die on the soil of my native land, fighting beside my friend
Montauran. I am now on my way secretly, by means of a passport he has
sent me, to learn if any of my property in Brittany is still
unconfiscated."
While the young man spoke Mademoiselle de Verneuil examined him with a
penetrating eye.
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