Marcel arose eagerly. He thought, “It is Milona, sent by Madame Vignola. Something has happened.” In a trice he was out of the room. Baudoin followed him with ill-pleased look. “How he runs off to meet her! Ah, that crafty woman holds him tight indeed! And this servant, who looks like a gipsy! This kind of company does not inspire confidence in one!” Marcel, on reaching the porter’s lodge, had found Milona there, as he had conjectured. Drawing her aside, he asked anxiously— “No harm has befallen Madame Vignola?” “No; I am with her all the time. But my mistress is uneasy for your sake. She heard cries and threats, and saw flashes of light through the darkness of the night. She well knows what these mad acts of folly committed by an angry mob mean, and would like to see you and have you explain the meaning of all this tumult.” “May I go to her at once?” “She is expecting you every minute.” He gave a gesture expressive of the joy he felt. “Then start back at once. We must not be seen crossing the plain together. In a few minutes I will follow you. Tell this to your mistress.” Milona bowed with a kind of haughty deference. With a tender look at the young man she said— “Do not tarry; she is never happy except when you are there!” Marcel stifled a cry of joy. “Oh, Milona! What has she told you?” “Nothing. But even had she taken me into her confidence I would not betray her. All the same, I see the difference between when she is alone and when you are with her. She is not the same at all. Come! She was in tears all the morning.” With a bow, she placed her fingers to her lips and withdrew. Marcel watched her take her departure. His heart beat wildly; flashes of light seemed to pass before his eyes. He had forgotten everything—works, strikes, danger, Uncle Graff, and his good resolutions. Now he thought of nothing but the radiant blonde awaiting him in that solitary villa, for which he set off with all the ardour of youth and love. CHAPTER V IN the dimly-lit salon Marcel and Madame Vignola were seated chatting near the window. It was ten o’clock. In the clear blue sky the sun shone brightly, and its warm rays breaking through the branches of the trees came with caressing gentleness to the lovers. Madame Vignola was saying in grave accents— “Even in this out-of-the-way little place, right in the midst of the forest and far away from the rush of town life, there is no perfect peace and calm.” “You seem to have no luck. Never before have the inhabitants of Ars shown themselves so turbulent. Generally they are quite peaceable and harmless creatures. If they have any claims to make they do it with moderation and politeness, sure, in advance, of obtaining what they want. I do not know what madness has come over them!” Madame Vignola smiled.