So soon as Roussilac had gone from his cousin's sight for ever, the tramp of the sentry's feet began again beating out the seconds like a clock. The girl was unable to see the soldier, but at regular intervals his shadow blackened the cracks along the door, and sometimes she heard him growl when a mosquito pricked his neck. Life became strangely mechanical as she lay half-asleep, her eyes opening and closing at intervals, her ears half unconsciously admitting the sounds of the outer world, her body subdued for the time and yielding to languor. But soon she stirred, hearing voices outside her cell. A grating laugh hurt her nerves, and after it came the order of the sentry calling on some unwelcome visitant to depart. Then the heavy tramp sounded monotonously again. "Would rather be a toad gnawing the root of a tree, than a machine to pace a dozen yards of grass," taunted an ugly voice. "Admit me into the hut, Sir Sentry. Know you I have this day been ordained a priest of Holy Church, and 'tis my duty to reason with the fair impenitent. Shall defy me, rascal? I can mutter a spell that shall knock the sword from your hand and shake your body with ague." "Begone!" muttered the soldier. "I talk with none while on my duty." Madeleine stirred uneasily. Something fell lightly against her arm, and she looked up to the aperture which made a window. Nothing unusual met her eyes; but when she moved again a soft odour brushed her face, and her delighted hand caught up a bunch of wild bush roses. "I go." The fully aroused girl felt that the hideous voice was intended for her ears. "There is no moon to-night, and after dark, when none shall see, I will be here to ease your duty by a song of roses and woman's love, brave comrade. Mayhap I shall then meet with a less churlish welcome." "That may be," answered the soldier sullenly. "Another shall have taken my place. Sing to him if you will." "Oh, the lovely flowers!" murmured Madeleine. The blooms had opened since noon and their yellow hearts were wet, because the gatherer had dipped each one into the river, before tying them together with a blade of scented grass. She brushed these sweet companions against her cheek, wondering who could have dared to show himself her friend. The time passed happily while she waited in tingling expectancy for the coming of dark. First came Laroche, full of bluster and talk of the wickedness of self-will, of the fate of the unbeliever in the next world, and the punishment of the heretic in this. The abbé had employed the afternoon in putting an edge to his sword with his own clerical hands, and his mind was fully occupied with the fineness of the bright steel and the excellence of the point while he talked.