Mademoiselle de Verneuil re-entered
the town by the Porte Saint-Leonard. The inhabitants, still uneasy
about the fighting, which, judging by the distant firing, was still
going on, were waiting the return of the National Guard, to judge of
their losses. Seeing the girl in her strange costume, her hair
dishevelled, a gun in her hand, her shawl and gown whitened against
the walls, soiled with mud and wet with dew, the curiosity of the
people was keenly excited,--all the more because the power, beauty,
and singularity of this young Parisian had been the subject of much
discussion.
Francine, full of dreadful fears, had waited for her mistress
throughout the night, and when she saw her she began to speak; but
Marie, with a kindly gesture, silenced her.
"I am not dead, my child," she said. "Ah!" she added, after a pause,
"I wanted emotions when I left Paris, and I have had them!"
Francine asked if she should get her some food, observing that she
must be in great need of it.
"No, no; a bath, a bath!" cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "I must
dress at once."
Francine was not a little surprised when her mistress required her to
unpack the most elegant of the dresses she had brought with her.
Having bathed and breakfasted, Marie made her toilet with all the
minute care which a woman gives to that important act when she expects
to meet the eyes of her lover in a ball-room.
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