“She is a strumpet!” cried Marche-a-Terre, in a terrifying voice. At the word the pretty hand once more covered his lips, but this time he sprang back violently. The girl no longer saw a lover; he had turned to a wild beast in all the fury of its nature. His eyebrows were drawn together, his lips drew apart, and he showed his teeth like a dog which defends its master. “I left you pure, and I find you muck. Ha! why did I ever leave you! You are here to betray us; to deliver up the Gars!” These sentences sounded more like roars than words. Though Francine was frightened, she raised her angelic eyes at this last accusation and answered calmly, as she looked into his savage face: “I will pledge my eternal safety that that is false. That’s an idea of the lady you are serving.” He lowered his head; then she took his hand and nestling to him with a pretty movement said: “Pierre, what is all this to you and me? I don’t know what you understand about it, but I can’t make it out. Recollect one thing: that noble and beautiful young lady has been my benefactress; she is also yours--we live together like two sisters. No harm must ever come to her where we are, you and I--in our lifetime at least. Swear it! I trust no one here but you.” “I don’t command here,” said the Chouan, in a surly tone. His face darkened. She caught his long ears and twisted them gently as if playing with a cat. “At least,” she said, seeing that he looked less stern, “promise me to use all the power you have to protect our benefactress.” He shook his head as if he doubted of success, and the motion made her tremble. At this critical moment the escort was entering the courtyard. The tread of the soldiers and the rattle of their weapons awoke the echoes and seemed to put an end to Marche-a-Terre’s indecision. “Perhaps I can save her,” he said, “if you make her stay in the house. And mind,” he added, “whatever happens, you must stay with her and keep silence; if not, no safety.” “I promise it,” she replied in terror. “Very good; then go in--go in at once, and hide your fears from every one, even your mistress.” “Yes.” She pressed his hand; he stood for a moment watching her with an almost paternal air as she ran with the lightness of a bird up the portico; then he slipped behind the bushes, like an actor darting behind the scenes as the curtain rises on a tragedy. “Do you know, Merle,” said Gerard as they reached the chateau, “that this place looks to me like a mousetrap?” “So I think,” said the captain, anxiously. The two officers hastened to post sentinels to guard the gate and the causeway; then they examined with great distrust the precipitous banks of the lakes and the surroundings of the chateau. “Pooh!” said Merle, “we must do one of two things: either trust ourselves in this barrack with perfect confidence, or else not enter it at all.” “Come, let’s go in,” replied Gerard.