hurly-burly in the gateway the footsteps of two men—one limped—detached themselves and came nearer and nearer. They stopped without. A gleam of light shone under the door, and some one knocked.
She went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, stepped quickly back to the bedside, where for an instant the light borne by those who entered blinded her. Then, above the lanthorn, the faces of La Tribe and Bigot broke upon her, and their shining eyes told her that they bore good news. It was well, for the men seemed tongue-tied. The minister’s fluency was gone; he was very pale, and it was Bigot who in the end spoke for both. He stepped forward, and, kneeling, kissed her cold hand.
“My lady,” he said, “you have gained all, and lost nothing. Blessed be God!”
“Blessed be God!” the minister wept. And from the passage without came the sound of laughter and weeping and many voices, with a flutter of lights and flying skirts, and women’s feet.
She stared at him wildly, doubtfully, her hand at her throat.
“What?” she said, “he is not dead—M. de Tignonville?”
“No, he is alive,” La Tribe answered, “he is alive.” And he lifted up his hands as if he gave thanks.
“Alive?” she cried. “Alive! Oh, Heaven is merciful. You are sure? You are sure?”
“Sure, Madame, sure. He was not in their hands. He was dismounted in the first shock, it seems, and, coming to himself after a time, crept away and reached St. Gilles, and came hither in a boat. But the enemy learned that he had not entered with us, and of this the priest wove his snare. Blessed be God, who put it into your heart to escape it!”
The Countess stood motionless, and with closed eyes
