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She was as a sleep-walker in some garden of dreamland until this girl had come, and with her coming startled her into wakefulness. And, standing there, La Marmotte was for the moment innocent and pure in heart. "I will pray too," she thought. What she was going to say, what she was going to ask from her Creator, never struck her.
So she nerved herself, and went on to La Marmotte's room, though it was with a quaking heart. At the door Torquato stopped, expressed a civil hope that mademoiselle would be comfortable, and, bowing politely to her as she passed in, handed the candle to La Marmotte, and was about to return when he felt his arm seized.
He had heard my voice as I stepped out and called to mademoiselle. And she, who was but an arm's length away, sprang forward. "Here! here! Oh! what has happened?" "It has happened that we have come into the house of murder," I replied; and then, my eyes falling on La Marmotte, I said, as I pointed to the room within: "He needs all your care; go to him."
"No, Chevalier for to us you are the Chevalier d'Orrain and not Bertrand Broussel no, La Marmotte means you no harm, and I would stake a thousand pistoles against an obolus that you will hear something of interest concerning mademoiselle. She is not going to warn you about yourself, I fancy," and he laughed; "she knows that the Chevalier d'Orrain can look to his skin."
Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must.
I thought, "does the furrier's niece take me for a prince of the blood in disguise?" La Marmotte, however, cut in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in the air, and I again said that we would go on at once, if Messire Trotto would of his kindness provide us with a guide; if not, we would go without one. And Trotto answered blandly: "Impossible!
"Fig of Eden," muttered Jules Marmotte, with one eye on Jeanne, "any fool could saw a better-looking thing out of ice!" "Fish," said fat Caroche the butcher, "that Francois has a rattle in his capote. He'd spend his time better chipping bones on my meat-block." But Jeanne could not bear this the greasy whopping butcher-man!
La Marmotte shrank back at my look and tone, and then cried out: "I am innocent I swear it." "Go to him!" I said; and turning to mademoiselle: "Come! we have not a moment to lose." And so we went out, leaving La Marmotte staring after us, for she made no movement. And, standing there, a cold hand grasped her wrist, and a voice hissed in her ear: "Fool! there is a dagger at your girdle.
"And you are not leaving Paris, then?" she asked after a moment's pause. "I cannot now," I answered. "Then," she laughed, "the furrier's niece and Monsieur Broussel will meet again. Au revoir, Chevalier!" And she was gone. The next day, about the time appointed by La Marmotte, I presented myself at Maître Barou, the armourer's, store.
I had fallen back behind the sumpter horses, and halted for a moment, when I felt a hand rest lightly on my stirrup. I looked down, and, as I live, it was La Marmotte. "You!" I exclaimed. "In Paris!" "Monsieur," she said hurriedly, her face pale and haggard, "this meeting is not chance. Ask for me tomorrow at vespers at the shop of Barou the armourer in the Rue Tire Boudin.
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