“Yes, yes,” she repeated, “it is our wedding morning.”

They tremblingly exchanged a kiss.  But all at once she disengaged herself from Dominique’s arms; she remembered the terrible reality.

“You must fly; you must fly,” she whispered.  “There is not a minute to be lost!”

And as he stretched out his arms in the darkness to clasp her again, she said tenderly: 

“Oh, I implore you to listen to me!  If you die I shall die also!  In an hour it will be light.  I want you to go at once.”

Then rapidly she explained her plan.  The iron ladder descended to the mill wheel; there he could climb down the buckets and get into the boat which was hidden away in a nook.  Afterward it would be easy for him to reach the other bank of the river and escape.

“But what of the sentinels?” he asked.

“There is only one, opposite, at the foot of the first willow.”

“What if he should see me and attempt to give an alarm?”

Francoise shivered.  She placed in his hand a knife she had brought with her.  There was a brief silence.

“What is to become of your father and yourself?” resumed Dominique.  “No, I cannot fly!  When I am gone those soldiers will, perhaps, massacre you both!  You do not know them.  They offered me my life if I would consent to guide them through the forest of Sauval.  When they discover my escape they will be capable of anything!”

The young girl did not stop to argue.  She said simply in reply to all the reasons he advanced: 

“Out of love for me, fly!  If you love me, Dominique, do not remain here another moment!”

Then she promised to climb back to her chamber.  No one would know that she had helped him.  She finally threw her arms around him to convince him with an embrace, with a burst of extraordinary love.  He was vanquished.  He asked but one more question: 

“Can you swear to me that your father knows what you have done and that he advises me to fly?”

“My father sent me!” answered Francoise boldly.

She told a falsehood.  At that moment she had only one immense need:  to know that he was safe, to escape from the abominable thought that the sun would be the signal for his death.  When he was far away every misfortune might fall upon her; that would seem delightful to her from the moment he was secure.  The selfishness of her tenderness desired that he should live before everything.

“Very well,” said Dominique; “I will do what you wish.”

They said nothing more.  Dominique reopened the window.  But suddenly a sound froze them.  The door was shaken, and they thought that it was about to be opened.  Evidently a patrol had heard their voices.  Standing locked in each other’s arms, they waited in unspeakable anguish.  The door was shaken a second time, but it did not open.  They uttered low sighs of relief; they comprehended that the soldier who was asleep against the door must have turned over.  In fact, silence succeeded; the snoring was resumed.