Moreover, Valentine and Gaston believed everyone ignorant of their secret.

They had always been so cautious! they had kept such strict watch!  They had flattered themselves that their conduct had been a masterpiece of dissimulation and prudence.

Valentine had fixed upon the hour when she was certain her mother would not miss her.  Gaston had never confided to anyone, not even to his brother Louis.  They never breathed each other’s name.  They denied themselves a last sweet word, a last kiss, when they felt it would be more safe.

Poor blind lovers!  As if anything could be concealed from the idle curiosity of country gossips; from the slanderous and ever-watchful enemies who are incessantly on the lookout for some new bit of tittle-tattle, good or bad, which they improve upon, and eagerly spread far and near.

They believed their secret well kept, whereas it had long since been made public; the story of their love, the particulars of their rendezvous, were topics of conversation throughout the neighborhood.

Sometimes, at dusk, they would see a bark gliding along the water, near the shore, and would say to each other: 

“It is a belated fisherman, returning home.”

They were mistaken.  The boat contained malicious spies, who delighted in having discovered them, and hastened to report, with a thousand false additions, the result of their expedition.

One dreary November evening, Gaston was awakened to the true state of affairs.  The Rhone was so swollen by heavy rains that an inundation was daily expected.  To attempt to swim across this impetuous torrent, would be tempting God.  Therefore Gaston went to Tarascon, intending to cross the bridge there, and walk along the bank to the usual place of meeting at La Verberie.  Valentine expected him at eleven o’clock.

Whenever Gaston went to Tarascon, he dined with a relative living there; but on this occasion a strange fatality led him to accompany a friend to the hotel of the “Three Emperors.”

After dinner, they went not the Cafe Simon, their usual resort, but to the little cafe in the market-place, where the fairs were held.

The small dining-hall was filled with young men.  Gaston and his friend called for a bottle of beer, and began to play billiards.

After they had been playing a short time, Gaston’s attention was attracted by peals of laughter from a party at the other end of the room.

From this moment, preoccupied by this continued laughter, of which he was evidently the subject, he knocked the balls carelessly in every direction.  His conduct surprised his friend, who said to him: 

“What is the matter?  You are missing the simplest shots.”

“It is nothing.”

The game went on a while longer, when Gaston suddenly turned as white as a sheet, and, throwing down his cue, strode toward the table which was occupied by five young men, playing dominoes and drinking wine.