Thanks to the darkness, the
marquis did not observe Mademoiselle de Verneuil's agitation as they
neared Fougeres. The first flush of dawn showed the towers of
Saint-Leonard in the distance. At that moment Marie was saying to
herself: "I am going to my death."
As they ascended the first hill the lovers had the same thought; they
left the carriage and mounted the rise on foot, in memory of their
first meeting. When Marie took the young man's arm she thanked him by
a smile for respecting her silence; then, as they reached the summit
of the plateau and looked at Fougeres, she threw off her reverie.
"Don't come any farther," she said; "my authority cannot save you from
the Blues to-day."
Montauran showed some surprise. She smiled sadly and pointed to a
block of granite, as if to tell him to sit down, while she herself
stood before him in a melancholy attitude. The rending emotions of her
soul no longer permitted her to play a part. At that moment she would
have knelt on red-hot coals without feeling them any more than the
marquis had felt the fire-brand he had taken in his hand to prove the
strength of his passion. It was not until she had contemplated her
lover with a look of the deepest anguish that she said to him, at
last:--
"All that you have suspected of me is true."
The marquis started.
"Ah! I pray you," she said, clasping her hands, "listen to me without
interruption.
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