"Nonsense; he is dead,--forget him," replied Corentin. "Come, speak
honestly to me; I have set you the example. Old Hulot is deeper than
he looks; if you want to escape his vigilance, I can help you.
Remember that he holds all the valleys and will instantly detect a
rendezvous. If you make one in Fougeres, under his very eyes, you are
at the mercy of his patrols. See how quickly he knew that this Chouan
had entered your house. His military sagacity will show him that your
movements betray those of the Gars--if Montauran loves you."
Mademoiselle de Verneuil had never listened to a more affectionate
voice; Corentin certainly seemed sincere, and spoke confidingly. The
poor girl's heart was so open to generous impressions that she was on
the point of betraying her secret to the serpent who had her in his
folds, when it occurred to her that she had no proof beyond his own
words of his sincerity, and she felt no scruple in blinding him.
"Yes," she said, "you are right, Corentin. I do love the marquis, but
he does not love me--at least, I fear so; I can't help fearing that
the appointment he wishes me to make with him is a trap."
"But you said yesterday that he came as far as Fougeres with you,"
returned Corentin. "If he had meant to do you bodily harm you wouldn't
be here now."
"You've a cold heart, Corentin.
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