Now Denise’s hood was back, and the firelight shining on her hair and face. Gaillard stood on the bank above, and stared at her, intently, silently, and she at him. Denise felt stricken dumb, and the heart froze in her, for Gaillard was near enough for her to recognise his face. It seemed to Denise that he stood there and gloated over her, opening his mouth wide to laugh, but making no sound. She saw him raise his hand, touch his breast, and then make the sign of the cross in the air, watching her as a ghost might watch the confused and half-stupefied terror of one awakened out of sleep. Marpasse happened to raise her eyes to Denise’s face, and its bleak, fixed stare put her upon the alert. “Heart alive, sister, is the devil at my back?” She twisted round in time to see a man moving off into the darkness, and Marpasse caught a glimpse of the gold suns on the blue surcoat. She jumped up, looked hard at Denise, and then went a few steps after Gaillard into the darkness. But the man did not wait for her, and she was recalled by a sharp cry from Isoult. Marpasse saw Denise climb the bank, and disappear into the darkness, and in a moment Marpasse was after her, knowing more than Denise knew of a camping ground at night. She still had view of the grey cloak, and Denise fled like a blind thing, and like a blind thing she was soon in trouble. She had run towards the place where the night seemed blackest, but the passion of her flight carried her into nothing more sympathetic than an old thorn hedge. It was here that Marpasse came up with her, while she was tearing her cloak free from the clinging thorns and brambles. She caught Denise and held her. “Fool, where are you running?” “Let me go, Marpasse.” Denise’s voice was fierce and eager, the eager fierceness of a grown woman, not the petulance of a child. She struggled with Marpasse, but the woman kept her hold. “Let me go, take your hands away!” Marpasse found Denise stronger than she had thought. “Fool, I am holding you for your own good. Strike me on the mouth, I am used to it. I know what a camping ground is like at night. Some great, fat spider will have you in a twinkling.” Denise struggled for breath. “I must go, Marpasse, take your hands away.” “Saints, don’t shout so, they are as thick here as flies on a dead horse! Ssst, listen to that!” She dragged Denise close to the hedge, for they heard men stumbling and calling in the darkness. “Hallo there, hallo!” “Come here, you squeakers, and keep us company.” “Find ’em, good dog, find ’em.” Marpasse laid a hand over Denise’s mouth, and they crouched there while the men beat the hedge and shouted like boys bird hunting with clap nets at night. They were on the wrong side of the hedge, however, and soon grew tired of the game. The women heard them move off into the darkness. Marpasse took her hand from Denise’s mouth. “There, you grey pigeon, the night hawks would have had you!” “Help me, Marpasse. My God, I cannot stay here.”