When the first drops of rain set the whole company in motion, Monsieur Malberg did not stir from his place; he still continued his observation, curious to see what the lady upon whom he kept his eyes fixed would do. She had remained as if glued to her chair; she had heard Madame Glumeau urge the guests to follow her, but she had paid no heed; having no fear whatever of the storm which everybody else seemed to dread, she remained in the woods, exposed to the rain; and when the whole company had fled toward the house, she was still there, not daring to turn her head in the direction in which she had seen her husband; for in Monsieur Malberg she had instantly recognized the Comte de Brévanne, whom she had married long before. The part of the wood in which they were was still lighted by the lamps on the stage and by the lanterns placed at intervals in the enclosure reserved for the audience. But the rain had extinguished some of the lights, the wind swung the lanterns to and fro so that the light that remained was as uncertain as the weather, which, however, had not become so bad as they had feared; the rain, which had fallen at first with considerable violence, had already diminished, and the wind, which had aroused such terror, seemed also to have abated. “Why does she stay there alone? Why didn’t she follow all those people? What is the reason that she remains exposed to the rain? She is in a ball dress. Can she have seen me? No, I was standing aloof; and if she had seen me, she would not have recognized me; time has passed for both of us alike, and I had to examine her a long time to be certain that it was she.” Such were the reflections of the man whom we now know to be the Comte de Brévanne, but whom we shall call Malberg more than once, because we have become accustomed to it.