"Dear me!" said Rosine; "there she is, calling me outside." And Rosine was for running down at once. "Heavens!" cried Mary; "don't leave me here alone." "Why, you are not alone," said Rosine, naïvely. "Monsieur Michel is here." "Yes, but to get back to the house," stammered Mary. "Why, mademoiselle," cried Rosine, astonished, "have you suddenly turned coward,--you so brave, who are in the woods by night as much as by day! It isn't a bit like you." "Never mind; stay, Rosine." "Well, for all the help I have been to you for the last half-hour I might as well go." "Very true; but that's not what I want of you." "What do you want?" "Well, don't you see?" "What?" "Why, that this unfortunate boy can't pass the night here, in this room." "Then where can he pass it?" asked Rosine. "I don't know; but we must find him another room." "Without telling the marquis?" "Oh, true! my father doesn't know he is here. Good heavens! what's to be done? Ah, Monsieur Michel, it is all your fault!" "Mademoiselle, I am ready to leave the house if you demand it." "What makes you say that?" cried Mary, quickly. "No; on the contrary, stay." "Mademoiselle Mary, an idea!" interrupted Rosine. "What is it?" "Suppose I go and ask Mademoiselle Bertha what we had better do?" "No," replied Mary, with an eagerness which surprised herself; "no, that's useless! I will ask her myself presently when I go down, after Monsieur Michel has finished his wretched little supper." "Very good; then I'll go now," said Rosine. Mary dared not keep her longer. Rosine disappeared, leaving the two young people entirely alone. XXXV. WHICH ENDS QUITE OTHERWISE THAN AS MARY EXPECTED. The little room was lighted only by the lantern, the rays of which were concentrated on the door, leaving in darkness, or at any rate in obscurity, the rest of the room,--if, indeed, the word "room" can be applied to the sort of pigeon-loft in which the two young people were now alone. Michel was still sitting on the heap of oats. Mary was kneeling on the ground, looking into the basket with more embarrassment than interest, ostensibly in search of some dainty which might still be forthcoming to conclude the repast.