Her husband might justly have accused her of coquetry if she
were not concealing the terrors of her soul by thus evading the fire
of his looks. Together they raised their charming heads and made each
other a sign of gratitude for the pleasures they had tasted; but after
a rapid glance at the beautiful picture his wife presented, the
marquis was struck with an expression on her face which seemed to him
melancholy, and he said in a tender voice, "Why sad, dear love?"
"Poor Alphonse," she answered, "do you know to what I have led you?"
"To happiness."
"To death!"
Shuddering with horror she sprang from the bed; the marquis,
astonished, followed her. His wife motioned him to a window and raised
the curtain, pointing as she did so to a score of soldiers. The moon
had scattered the fog and was now casting her white light on the
muskets and the uniforms, on the impassible Corentin pacing up and
down like a jackal waiting for his prey, on the commandant, standing
still, his arms crossed, his nose in the air, his lips curling,
watchful and displeased.
"Come, Marie, leave them and come back to me."
"Why do you smile? I placed them there."
"You are dreaming."
"No."
They looked at each other for a moment. The marquis divined the whole
truth, and he took her in his arms. "No matter!" he said, "I love you
still.
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