Then she rapidly explained her plan to him. The iron ladder extended downward to the wheel; once he had got so far he could climb down by means of the buckets and get into the boat, which was hidden in a recess. Then it would be an easy matter for him to reach the other bank of the stream and make his escape. “But are there no sentinels?” said he. “Only one, directly opposite here, at the foot of the first willow.” “And if he sees me, if he gives the alarm?” Françoise shuddered. She placed in his hand a knife that she had brought down with her. They were silent. “And your father--and you?” Dominique continued. “But no, it is not to be thought of; I must not fly. When I am no longer here those soldiers are capable of murdering you. You do not know them. They offered to spare my life if I would guide them into Sauval forest. When they discover that I have escaped, their fury will be such that they will be ready for every atrocity.” The girl did not stop to argue the question. To all the considerations that he adduced her one simple answer was: “Fly. For the love of me, fly. If you love me, Dominique, do not linger here a single moment longer.” She promised that she would return to her bedroom; no one should know that she had helped him. She concluded by folding him in her arms and smothering him with kisses, in an extravagant outburst of passion. He was vanquished. He put only one more question to her: “Will you swear to me that your father knows what you are doing, and that he counsels my flight?” “It was my father who sent me to you,” Françoise unhesitatingly replied. She told a falsehood. At that moment she had but one great, overmastering longing, to know that he was in safety, to escape from the horrible thought that the morning’s sun was to be the signal for his death. When he should be far away, then calamity and evil might burst upon her head; whatever fate might be in store for her would seem endurable, so that only his life might be spared. Before and above all other considerations, the selfishness of her love demanded that he should be saved. “It is well,” said Dominique; “I will do as you desire.” No further word was spoken. Dominique went to the window to raise it again. But suddenly there was a noise that chilled them with affright. The door was shaken violently; they thought that some one was about to open it; it was evidently a party going the rounds who had heard their voices. They stood by the window, close locked in each other’s arms, awaiting the event with anguish unspeakable. Again there came the rattling at the door, but it did not open. Each of them drew a deep sigh of relief; they saw how it was. The soldier lying across the threshold had turned over in his sleep. Silence was restored indeed, and presently the snoring began again.