The Abbé Rosemonde had resumed his orisons. Monseigneur was lost in a brown reverie from which the creaking of the massive gate as it was opened and then shut again roused him after awhile. He lent an ear to Talon's footsteps as they echoed faintly along the flagstones of the forecourt.

A moment or two later Aurore came back.

"That awful Talon gone?" she asked with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Yes, thank God!" De Marigny replied. "I hate the sight of the rogue."

"He has saved us-"

"I know that," De Marigny was ready to admit, "but he has done it for his own ends. He has saved us, as you say, my dear. And for this I suppose we should be grateful."

"There is no possibility," Aurore queried anxiously, "of his playing us false?"

"It would be entirely against his own interests if he did," De Marigny replied drily.

"And at three o'clock we go!" she said with a long-drawn-out sigh. And then added under her breath: "I am glad that it will still be dark. I hope it will be very dark."

"It will make it safer, of course."

"Not because of that," she murmured.

"Then why...?"

"I would rather not see Marigny when I go."

"You will see it when you return, my child," the Abbé put in cheerily. "This state of things cannot last. It will not last. I believe in God, and He will soon be avenged."

Aurore smiled on the kindly old man and quickly wiped her eyes. She loved Marigny and dreaded the long farewell - dreaded, even now, going into the unknown. The priest had risen and was looking for his hat.

"I don't think you had one, M. l'Abbé," Aurore said, smiling at him through her tears.

But suddenly both tears and smile vanished. She looked frightened. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks became the colour of ashes.

"What was that?" she murmured hoarsely.

"What, my dear?"

"What is it, Aurore?" Monseigneur asked frowning.

She seemed to be listening and put up her hand with her finger pointed towards the window.

"Didn't you hear?" she whispered.

Both the men shook their heads. She tiptoed to the window and softly pushed aside the curtain. Again she listened. The two men remained silent, for she had put her finger to her lips. But no sound came from outside, and after a little while Aurore allowed the curtain to fall back in its place. She still looked very white, and her knees appeared to be shaking under her, for she sank into a chair.

"But what was it, Aurore?" her father asked.

"I thought I heard a sound," she murmured, "just outside the window, as if-"

"As if what?"

"I don't know. As if someone had been there - listenening."

"It was Talon's footsteps you heard going across the forecourt."

"Perhaps," she admitted reluctantly, and once more tried to smile.

The Abbé had finally turned to go.

"You are going, M. l'Abbé?" she asked, trying to speak calmly, though her lips were still quivering and bloodless."

"Yes, yes, my child. I'll go home now and prepare everything."

"Prepare what, M. l'Abbé?"

"To celebrate for you both," the old priest replied with fervent earnestness. "The church will be quite ready for you directly you pull up. You will tell the driver to stpp at the churchyard gate. I will say Mass and give you both Holy Communion. After that, you can go on your long journey fortified by God's blessing. Now, if there's anything else I can do..."

Monseigneur also had risen. In spite of his vaunted self-possession, he, too, was feeling keenly the separation from his ancestral home. He felt that in going away from Marigny, in joining the large crowd of émigrés who had turned their backs on their country and found refuge in foreign lands, he would leave behind him something of his pride of caste, something of his dignity, something subtle and indefinable which, even if he came back one day, he would never again recapture. The old priest no doubt knew what went on in the heart and mind of his old friend. He took his leave in silence, grasping the hand which, perhaps, he would never touch again. Aurore continued to smile as she bade him farewell.

"Soon after three o'clock," she said, "we'll be outside the church door."

The hand which she gave him felt cold, and her eyes still looked dark and filled with terror. The priest patted her hand reassuringly.

"There was no one, I am sure," he said, nodding in the direction of the window. "But I'll have a good look as I go out and shoo the malefactor away. Don't be frightened, my child. I have the feeling that you are under the special protection of the holy angels this night."

He looked so serene and so reassuring that Aurore felt comforted. She found a candle and lighted it.

"I'll see you to the gate," she said.

Together they went out of the room, Aurore holding the candle high above her head. As she crossed the threshold, she could not repress a shudder: all that she had gone through that afternoon in this great gilded room came back to her with a rush of memory. Pierre had closed the window, but the night was no longer dark outside. The storm clouds had drifted away, and the waning moon had risen and tipped the treetops with her silvery light.

"It won't be so dark, after all," the priest remarked.

They had gone down the stairs and crossed the hall. The priest opened the gate.

"Go back, my little Aurore," he said as he once more bade her good-night. "You must have lots to do, and your father will be getting anxious."

After he had gone she stood for a moment at the gate, watching while the priest walked briskly across the forecourt. A soft breeze fanned the flame of the candle, and she shielded it with her hand so that the light fell on her face and the loose golden strands of her hair. And suddenly she had the feeling that a pair of eyes was watching her out of the gloom. Hastily she blew out the candle. She was ashamed of her nervousness, for, in very truth, she was shaking with terror, while her reason told her there was nothing to fear. The Abbé's serenity put her to shame, as did her father's coolness; she tried to steel herself against this humiliating weakness, but her teeth chattered persistently, while her head felt heavy and hot. At last she heard Pierre's voice behind her; he came shuffling across the hall, carrying a lantern. Aurore left him to close the gate and ran back as fast as she could across the hall.