When the door opened again a woman entered, and one of the Mauprats whispered to me that the young lady had lost her way at a wolf hunt and that Lawrence, meeting her in the forest, had promised to escort her to Rochemaure where she had friends.  Never having seen the face of one of my uncles, and little dreaming she was near their haunt, for she had never had a glimpse of Roche-Mauprat, she was led into the castle without having the least suspicion of the trap into which she had fallen.  When I beheld this woman, so young and so beautiful, with her expression of calm sincerity and goodness, it seemed to me I was dreaming.

My uncles withdrew, for Antony had pledged his word, and I was left alone with the stranger.  For a moment I felt more bewildered and stupefied than pleased.  With the fumes of wine in my head I could only suppose this lady was some acquaintance of Lawrence’s, and that she had been told of my drunken boast and was willing to put my gallantry to the proof.  I got up and bolted and double-locked the door.

She was sitting close to the fire, drying her wet garments, without noticing what I had done.  I made up my mind to kiss her, but no sooner had she raised her eyes to mine than this familiarity became impossible.  All I could say, was: 

“Upon my word, mademoiselle, you are a charming creature, and I love you—­as true as my name is Bernard Mauprat.”

“Bernard Mauprat!” she cried, springing up; “you are Bernard Mauprat, you?  In that case learn to whom you are speaking, and change your manners.”

“Really!” I said with a grin, “but let my lips meet yours, and you shall see if I am not as nicely mannered as those uncles of mine.”

Her lips grew white.  Her agony was manifest in every gesture.  I shuddered myself, and was in a state of great perplexity.

This woman was beautiful as the day.  I do not believe that there has ever lived a woman as lovely as she.  And this was the first trial of her life.

She was my young cousin, Edmee de Mauprat, daughter of M. Hubert de Mauprat, the chevalier.  She was of my age, for we were both seventeen, and I ought to have protected her against the world at the peril of my life.

“I swear by Christ,” she said, taking my hands in hers, “that I am Edmee, your cousin, your prisoner—­yes, and your friend, for I have always felt an interest in you.”

Her words were cut short by the report of a gun outside; more shots were heard and the alarm trumpet sounded.

I heard my Uncle Lawrence shouting violently at the door.  “Where is that coward?  Where is that wretched boy?  Bernard, the mounted police are attacking us, and you are amusing yourself by making love while our throats are being cut.  Come and help us, Bernard.”

“May the devil take the lot of you,” I cried, “if I believe a single word of all this.”

But the shots rang out louder and for half an hour the fighting was most desperate.  Our band amounted to twenty-four all told, and the enemy were fifty soldiers in addition to a score of peasants.