Francoise bravely climbed out of her window and grasped one of the bars of the ladder.  She began to descend.  Her skirts embarrassed her greatly.  Suddenly a stone was detached from the wall and fell into the Morelle with a loud splash.  She stopped with an icy shiver of fear.  Then she realized that the waterfall with its continuous roar would drown every noise she might make, and she descended more courageously, feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself that the rounds were firm.  When she was at the height of the chamber which served as Dominique’s prison she paused.  An unforeseen difficulty nearly caused her to lose all her courage:  the window of the chamber was not directly below that of her apartment.  She hung off from the ladder, but when she stretched out her arm her hand encountered only the wall.  Must she, then, ascend without pushing her plan to completion?  Her arms were fatigued; the murmur of the Morelle beneath her commenced to make her dizzy.  Then she tore from the wall little fragments of plaster and threw them against Dominique’s window.  He did not hear; he was doubtless asleep.  She crumbled more plaster from the wall, scraping the skin off her fingers.  She was utterly exhausted; she felt herself falling backward, when Dominique at last softly opened the window.

“It is I!” she murmured.  “Catch me quickly; I’m falling!”

It was the first time that she had addressed him familiarly.  Leaning out, he seized her and drew her into the chamber.  There she gave vent to a flood of tears, stifling her sobs that she might not be heard.  Then by a supreme effort she calmed herself.

“Are you guarded?” she asked in a low voice.

Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her thus, nodded his head affirmatively, pointing to the door.  On the other side they heard someone snoring; the sentinel, yielding to sleep, had thrown himself on the floor against the door, arguing that by disposing himself thus the prisoner could not escape.

“You must fly,” resumed Francoise excitedly.  “I have come to beg you to do so and to bid you farewell.”

But he did not seem to hear her.  He repeated: 

“What?  Is it you; is it you?  Oh, what fear you caused me!  You might have killed yourself!”

He seized her hands; he kissed them.

“How I love you, Francoise!” he murmured.  “You are as courageous as good.  I had only one dread:  that I should die without seeing you again.  But you are here, and now they can shoot me.  When I have passed a quarter of an hour with you I shall be ready.”

Little by little he had drawn her to him, and she leaned her head upon his shoulder.  The danger made them dearer to each other.  They forgot everything in that warm clasp.

“Ah, Francoise,” resumed Dominique in a caressing voice, “this is Saint Louis’s Day, the day, so long awaited, of our marriage.  Nothing has been able to separate us, since we are both here alone, faithful to the appointment.  Is not this our wedding morning?”