“Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief.” He made a step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing, tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it. The moon was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. He proceeded to the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to a good height: the girl made the sign of the cross. The marquis listened once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail. He was about to jump down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice. This proceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing their conversation and passing between them a pint of wine. The marquis crept back to his door, holding his breath: the girl was awaiting him on the threshold. “I told you it was not yet time,” said she. “Have you never a knife,” said the marquis, “to cut those rascals’ throats with?” “Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only,” murmured the young girl; “in an hour they will all be asleep.” The girl’s voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards him were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at the end of an hour it was the young girl’s turn to tell him to start. The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips but lately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing this time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country. He leaned over the balustrade, and saw: very plainly a soldier lying prone on the straw. “If they were to awake?” murmured the young girl in accents of anguish. “They will not take me alive, be assured,” said the marquis. “Adieu, then,” replied she, sobbing; “may Heaven preserve you!” He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavily on the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detach a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks, tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle, knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields. The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes on the sleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightest movement. The noise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horse at the end of the courtyard had half awakened him. He rose, and suspecting some surprise, ran to the shed. His horse was no longer there; the marquis, in his haste to escape, had taken the first which came to hand, and this was the soldier’s. Then the soldier gave the alarm; his comrades woke up. They ran to the prisoner’s room, and found it empty. The provost came from his bed in a dazed condition. The prisoner had escaped.