We’re caught! YVETTE The terrace there! Behind the stone woman! [_They cross the garden to the terrace._ SÉRAPHINE (_She stops abruptly and points to the table_) Bread! THE HUNTSMAN (_nearer_) Hilloa!—Hilloa! [YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _turn from the table and hide behind the tall, ivy-draped pedestal of the statue_. GRÉGOIRE _looks up from his paper and sees them_. _Enter_ RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN. THE HUNTSMAN This way they came! GRÉGOIRE (_jerking his thumb over his shoulder_) Down yonder path!—plump to the woods again! THE HUNTSMAN The Hussars from Auray have twenty rogues! GRÉGOIRE Indeed! THE HUNTSMAN These two and my bag’s full! [_Exit_ THE HUNTSMAN. GRÉGOIRE Diable! [_He reads aloud._ _Weary at last of intolerable wrong, The peasants of Goy in Normandy rose And burned the château. Who questions their right?_ [_He folds his paper._ Saint Yves! this stone is much harder than Goy! [_He looks fixedly at the statue and raises his voice._ Ma’m’selle who would smile at the trump of doom, I think that all the village will be hanged! And at its head that brown young witch they call Yvette— _Reënter_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE. DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE) Begone! [_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE. DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE _rest beside the statue_, YVETTE _listening_. Why, what’s a soldier for? But pity me, pity me, belle Marquise! Since pity is so sweet! THE MARQUISE I’m sure it is A fearful wound! DE VARDES A fearful wound indeed! But ‘tis not in the arm! THE MARQUISE No, monsieur? DE VARDES No! The heart! I swear that it is bleeding fast! And I have naught wherewith to stanch the wound. Your kerchief— THE MARQUISE Just a piece of lace! DE VARDES ‘Twill serve. THE MARQUISE (_giving her handkerchief_) Well, there!—Now tell me of last night. DE VARDES