The light died out again, but in a moment I saw the figure once more, this time much nearer, and coming slowly down the line of sleeping men towards the corner where I lay. Nearer and nearer it came, until I felt a pair of eyes looking down into mine. “M. de Marsan,” breathed a voice, “you are awake? Close your eyes to show me that you hear.” I closed my eyes an instant, the blood rushing to my temples, my nerves a-quiver. I could not mistake that voice--no, not even its whisper! “Can you get up?” asked the voice. I shook my head and pointed with my free hand to my bound wrist and ankle. In an instant the figure had dropped to its knees beside me. I felt swift fingers lightly examining the ropes, I caught the gleam of a knife, and my bonds fell from me. “Now, follow me, Monsieur,” whispered the voice. For the moment I forgot everything but the joy of being with her--the joy of holding her hand again and whispering in her ear. I got cautiously to my knees, to my feet, and stole down the room after her. A shower of ashes threw the place into sudden light and sent my heart into my throat, but none of the sleepers stirred. She paused in the shadow of the farthest corner until I had reached her side. “There, M. de Marsan,” she whispered, “is a door through which, I think, you may escape. You see I am not ungrateful.” “Ungrateful!” I repeated, hoarsely, and caught her hand. “You must go, Monsieur,” she protested. “Even a moment’s loitering here may mean recapture.” “But I am going to risk that moment. Mademoiselle,” I said. “You see that my words have proved true and that we have met again; only, this afternoon, I thought you had forgot me.” “Oh, no, M. de Marsan,” she breathed, “I had not forgot you, nor am I like to do so. Only I knew I could not help you did any one suspect me for your friend. But you must go--hasten!” “And you?” I asked. “Oh, I--I will return to the apartment where my maid and Mademoiselle de Cadillac are sleeping,” and she made a little motion towards another door, almost hidden in the shadow. There was a step at the door, and we saw the sentry enter and pause to glance about the room. For an instant I was certain he had seen us, so intently did he look towards the corner where we were, but at last he passed on again. I felt that the hand I held close in mine was trembling. “You see the folly of delay, Monsieur,” she panted. “You must go,--they must not retake you,--better to die fighting than to wait for death at Marleon! Ah, you do not know!” and she drew her hand from mine and pressed it for a moment to her eyes. How fair, how sweet she was! How I trembled to take her in my arms! “Adieu, Monsieur. My prayers go with you.” “And only your prayers, Mademoiselle?” I whispered, my heart on fire. “Go, go!” she repeated, and held out her hand. I caught it in both of mine and pressed it to my lips.