A score
of times did Mademoiselle de Verneuil raise the window-curtain, hoping
to see the smoke rising above the rocks; but the fog only took a
grayer tone, which her excited imagination turned into a warning. At
last she let fall the curtain, impatiently resolving not to raise it
again. She looked gloomily around the charming room to which she had
given a soul and a voice, asking herself if it were done in vain, and
this thought brought her back to her preparations.
"Francine," she said, drawing her into a little dressing-room which
adjoined her chamber and was lighted through a small round window
opening on a dark corner of the fortifications where they joined the
rock terrace of the Promenade, "put everything in order. As for the
salon, you can leave that as it is," she added, with a smile which
women reserve for their nearest friends, the delicate sentiment of
which men seldom understand.
"Ah! how sweet you are!" exclaimed the little maid.
"A lover is our beauty--foolish women that we are!" she replied gaily.
Francine left her lying on the ottoman and went away convinced that,
whether her mistress were loved or not, she would never betray
Montauran.
* * * * *
"Are you sure of what you are telling me, old woman?" Hulot was saying
to Barbette, who had sought him out as soon as she had reached
Fougeres.
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