“There is a small kitchen garden,” continued the girl, “on the side of the fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but——­”

“Where is my horse?”

“No doubt in the shed with the rest.”

“I will jump into the yard.”

“You will be killed.”

“So much the better!”

“Ah monsieur marquis, what have you done?” said the young girl with grief.

“Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and my honour are at stake.  Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind.”

“Stay,” replied the girl, grasping his arm; “at the left-hand corner of the yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs just over it—­”

“Bravo!  I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief.”  He made a step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing, tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it.  The moon was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound.  He proceeded to the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to a good height:  the girl made the sign of the cross.  The marquis listened once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail.  He was about to jump down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice.  This proceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing their conversation and passing between them a pint of wine.  The marquis crept back to his door, holding his breath:  the girl was awaiting him on the threshold.

“I told you it was not yet time,” said she.

“Have you never a knife,” said the marquis, “to cut those rascals’ throats with?”

“Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only,” murmured the young girl; “in an hour they will all be asleep.”

The girl’s voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards him were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at the end of an hour it was the young girl’s turn to tell him to start.

The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips but lately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing this time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country.  He leaned over the balustrade, and saw very plainly a soldier lying prone on the straw.

“If they were to awake?” murmured the young girl in accents of anguish.

“They will not take me alive, be assured,” said the marquis.

“Adieu, then,” replied she, sobbing; “may Heaven preserve you!”

He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavily on the dungheap.  The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detach a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks, tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle, knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields.