Gilberte was sitting at the other side of the room. Dumb with fright, and not daring to lend her countenance to the carpenter's ruse, she tried to conceal herself behind the coarse serge curtains of the bed in which the youngest child lay. She would have been glad to say nothing at all, and, as she prepared a potion, she kept her face turned to the wall and pulled her little shawl over her shoulders. A scarf of coarse black lace, tied under her chin, concealed or at all events dimmed the golden sheen of her hair, which the marquis might have recognized if he had ever noticed its brilliancy and luxuriance. But Monsieur de Boisguilbault had met Gilberte only twice, on her father's arm. He had recognized Monsieur Antoine in the distance and had turned his head away. When he had been obliged to pass them at close quarters, he had shut his eyes to avoid seeing the girl's dreaded features. Therefore he had no idea of her figure, her face or her carriage. Jean had lied with so much self-possession and so aptly that the marquis suspected nothing. The features of Sylvain Charasson, who was lying like a cat in the ashes, sound asleep, could not be so unfamiliar to him, for the page of Châteaubrun, a shameless marauder by nature, must have been caught by him many a time clinging to fruit-laden branches along his hedges; but he asked so few questions and took such painstaking care to avoid seeing or knowing anything of what took place outside his park wall, that he had no idea of the child's name or station in life. Having no feeling of distrust, therefore, and being impelled by the mental and physical agitation he had undergone that evening, to open his heart more than usual, he ventured to follow the charitable lady's movements with his eyes, and even to approach her and ask some questions concerning the invalids. The somewhat shy reserve of this friend of the poor inspired in him profound respect, and it seemed to him worthy of all praise and in the best of taste that, instead of boasting of her good works before him, she seemed disturbed and annoyed to have been taken by surprise in the exercise of her functions as a sister of charity. Gilberte was so afraid of being recognized that she was afraid to let her voice be heard--as if it were not as unfamiliar to the marquis as her face--and waited for the peasant woman to answer his questions. But Jean, fearing that the old woman would fail to play her part intelligently and would betray Gilberte's _incognito_ by her awkwardness, kept constantly in front of her and edged her toward the fireplace, glaring savagely at her whenever Monsieur de Boisguilbault's back was turned. Mère Marlot, trembling from head to foot and having no comprehension of what was taking place in her house, did not know which way to turn and prayed fervently that the rain might cease and she be delivered from the presence of these new guests.