Meanwhile the sky, which had been so dark, became softly luminous, a whiteness spread over it, the stars paled. At the horizon, the mountains were sharply outlined, black against the growing light, while the earth lay in darkness. Rosaline and her companions began to ascend a steep path, and as they reached the top of the slope the moon rose glorious and a flood of white light poured a searching radiance over the scene. The white rocks cast black shadows, and the sandy soil beneath their feet seemed as white as chalk, while above them a solitary cedar stretched its branches, dark and feathery, against a luminous background. Over there were the spires and turrets of Nîmes, below them the cottage roofs of St. Césaire, around them a wild and barren country, suddenly whitened by the moon. “_Mon Dieu!_” exclaimed Babet, harshly, “’tis a white night--white as a winding-sheet! ’Tis ill luck, mademoiselle; let us hurry--a dog is baying at the moon.” Rosaline’s mood changed, and for the first time that night she laughed naturally and sweetly. “You foolish Babet!” she said, “it is a glorious night, and you have been to prayers. Where is your courage?” Babet shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve courage enough, mademoiselle,” she said, “but I do not love to thrust my head into the lion’s mouth.” With this remark she went on again, leaving the others to follow. To Babet there were many things more important than a fine scene by moonlight, and she did not approve of the slow progress made by her mistress and her escort. “A faithful servant,” remarked Rosaline, following her with her eyes. “She was my nurse when I was a baby, and she treats me as a child. Doubtless, monsieur, you think that we lead a strange life at St. Cyr. I fancy it is very different from the lives of other women of our rank, but what else can we do? We are poor, and we are glad of our humble friend Babet; indeed, I think that she and the little cobbler, Charlot, are our most devoted allies. After all, I imagine that _grand’mère_ and I would be very unhappy if we were surrounded with state, and had all our sweet liberty restricted. Were you ever at Versailles, monsieur?” “But once,” he said quietly. “I went to try to see the king. I wanted to petition him for my innocent sister’s liberty--that I might take her place.” “Forgive me!” Rosaline exclaimed; “I did not think of the pain I should give. Tell me,” she went on hurriedly, “have you ever seen Cavalier or Roland? To-night, in the darkness, I wanted to see him; ’tis true that they lighted the torches about him, but in that wild illumination I made out nothing except that he appeared a boy. But he did not speak like one!” “He looked very young,” François replied; “but there is a certain force about him. I never saw him before, but I shall not soon forget him, or the poor, crazed girl.”