Oh, how lovely she was!  It seems as if her shade were even now passing before my eyes.  Yes; I fancy I see her in the same dress, the riding-habit which used to be worn in those days.  The skirt of it was of cloth and very full; round the waist was a red sash, while a waistcoat of pearl-gray satin, fastened with buttons, fitted closely to the figure; over this was a hunting-jacket, trimmed with lace, short and open in front; the hat, of gray felt, with a broad brim turned up in front, was crowned with half a dozen red feathers.  The hair, which was not powdered, was drawn back from the face and fell down in two long plaits, like those of the Bernese women.  Edmee’s were so long that they almost reached the ground.

Her garb, to me so strangely fascinating, her youth and beauty, and the favour with which she now seemed to regard my pretensions, combined to make me mad with love and joy.  I could imagine nothing more beautiful than a lovely woman yielding without coarse words, and without tears of shame.  My first impulse was to take her in my arms; but, as if overcome by that irresistible longing to worship which characterizes a first love, even with the grossest of beings, I fell down before her and pressed her knees to my breast; and yet, on my own supposition, it was to a shameless wanton that this homage was paid.  I was none the less nigh to swooning from bliss.

She took my head between her two beautiful hands, and exclaimed: 

“Ah, I was right!  I knew quite well that you were not one of those reprobates.  You are going to save me, aren’t you?  Thank God!  How I thank you, O God!  Must we jump from the window?  Oh, I am not afraid; come—­come!”

I seemed as if awakened from a dream, and, I confess, the awakening was not a little painful.

“What does this mean?” I asked, as I rose to my feet.  “Are you still jesting with me?  Do you not know where you are?  Do you think that I am a child?”

“I know that I am at Roche-Mauprat,” she replied, turning pale again, “and that I shall be outraged and assassinated in a couple of hours, if meanwhile I do not succeed in inspiring you with some pity.  But I shall succeed,” she cried, falling at my feet in her turn; “you are not one of those men.  You are too young to be a monster like them.  I could see from your eyes that you pitied me.  You will help me to escape, won’t you, won’t you, my dear heart?”

She took my hands and kissed them frenziedly, in the hope of moving me.  I listened and looked at her with a sullen stupidity scarcely calculated to reassure her.  My heart was naturally but little accessible to feelings of generosity and compassion, and at this moment a passion stronger than all the rest was keeping down the impulse she had striven to arouse.  I devoured her with my eyes, and made no effort to understand her words.  I only wished to discover whether I was pleasing to her, or whether she was trying to make use of me to effect her escape.