Just then the Chouan fire slackened, for, in truth, the whole object of the skirmish was to give the chevalier an opportunity to utter his warning to the Gars. Merle, who saw the enemy disappearing across the hedges, thought best not to follow them nor to enter upon a fight that was uselessly dangerous. Gerard ordered the escort to take its former position on the road, and the convoy was again in motion without the loss of a single man. The captain offered his hand to Mademoiselle de Verneuil to replace her in the coach, for the young nobleman stood motionless, as if thunderstruck. Marie, amazed at his attitude, got into the carriage alone without accepting the politeness of the Republican; she turned her head towards her lover, saw him still motionless, and was stupefied at the sudden change which had evidently come over him. The young man slowly returned, his whole manner betraying deep disgust. “Was I not right?” said Madame du Gua in his ear, as she led him to the coach. “We have fallen into the hands of a creature who is trafficking for your head; but since she is such a fool as to have fallen in love with you, for heaven’s sake don’t behave like a boy; pretend to love her at least till we reach La Vivetiere; once there--But,” she thought to herself, seeing the young man take his place with a dazed air, as if bewildered, “can it be that he already loves her?” The coach rolled on over the sandy road. To Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s eyes all seemed changed. Death was gliding beside her love. Perhaps it was only fancy, but, to a woman who loves, fancy is as vivid as reality. Francine, who had clearly understood from Marche-a-Terre’s glance that Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s fate, over which she had commanded him to watch, was in other hands than his, looked pale and haggard, and could scarcely restrain her tears when her mistress spoke to her. To her eyes Madame du Gua’s female malignancy was scarcely concealed by her treacherous smiles, and the sudden changes which her obsequious attentions to Mademoiselle de Verneuil made in her manners, voice, and expression was of a nature to frighten a watchful observer. Mademoiselle de Verneuil herself shuddered instinctively, asking herself, “Why should I fear? She is his mother.” Then she trembled in every limb as the thought crossed her mind, “Is she really his mother?” An abyss suddenly opened before her, and she cast a look upon the mother and son, which finally enlightened her. “That woman loves him!” she thought. “But why has she begun these attentions after showing me such coolness? Am I lost? or--is she afraid of me?”