Thrice she hummed it, bland and smiling. Then from the neighbouring
group came an interruption. The wine he had drunk had put it into
Bigot's head to snatch a kiss from Suzanne; and Suzanne's modesty, which
was very nice in company, obliged her to squeal. The uproar which
ensued, the men backing the man and the women the woman, brought Tavannes
to his feet. He did not speak, but a glance from his eyes was enough.
There was not one who failed to see that something was amiss with him,
and a sudden silence fell on the party.
He turned to the Countess. "You wished to see the castle?" he said. "You
had better go now, but not alone." He cast his eyes over the company,
and summoned La Tribe, who was seated with the Carlats. "Go with
Madame," he said curtly. "She has a mind to climb the hill. Bear in
mind, we start at three, and do not venture out of hearing."
"I understand, M. le Comte," the minister answered. He spoke quietly,
but there was a strange light in his face as he turned to go with her.
None the less he was silent until Madame's lagging feet--for all her
interest in the expedition was gone--had borne her a hundred paces from
the company. Then-"Who knoweth our thoughts and forerunneth all our desires," he murmured.
And when she turned to him, astonished, "Madame," he continued, "I have
prayed, ah, how I have prayed, for this opportunity of speaking to you!
And it has come. I would it had come this morning, but it has come. Do
not start or look round; many eyes are on us, and, alas! I have that to
say to you which it will move you to hear, and that to ask of you which
it must task your courage to perform."
She began to tremble, and stood looking up the green slope to the broken
grey wall which crowned its summit.
"What is it?" she whispered, commanding herself with an effort. "What is
it? If it have aught to do with M. Tignonville--"
"It has not!"
In her surprise--for although she had put the question she had felt no
doubt of the answer--she started and turned to him.
"It has not?" she exclaimed almost incredulously.
"No."
"Then what is it, Monsieur?" she replied, a little haughtily. "What can
there be that should move me so?"
"Life or death, Madame," he answered solemnly. "Nay, more; for since
Providence has given me this chance of speaking to you, a thing of which
I despaired, I know that the burden is laid on us, and that it is guilt
or it is innocence, according as we refuse the burden or bear it."
"What is it, then?" she cried impatiently. "What is it?"