Did he know that he had touched a string to vibrate through his listener’s whole being? She rose and walked to the window, where the flowers were, while at the same moment he prepared to recall her hastily. It was needless, for she started, turning very pale, and came quietly back to her seat. The Abbé’s quick ear detected the tramp of a boot crunching the gravel walk outside, but it was impossible to gather from his countenance whether he suspected the passer-by to be of more importance than one of the gardeners. The Marquise, however, had caught a glimpse of a figure she was beginning to know by heart too well. Captain George had of late, indeed ever since Cerise came home, contracted a habit of traversing the gardens of the Hôtel Montmirail to visit a post of his musketeers in the neighbourhood. These guards were permitted to enter everywhere, and Madame de Montmirail was the last person to interfere, in this instance, with their privileges. So little annoyance, indeed, did she seem to experience from the intrusion, that the windows of her boudoir were generally wide open at this hour of the day. Though to visit this post might be a necessary military precaution, it was obviously a duty requiring promptitude less than consideration. Captain George usually walked slowly through the garden, and returned in a very short time at the same deliberate pace. The Marquise knew perfectly well that it took him exactly ten minutes by the clock in her boudoir. When she sat down again, Malletort, without noticing her movement or her confusion, proceeded in a sincere and affectionate tone—