But fast to danger-point as was the speed, to the women in that carriage it was too slow.  As they reached the barrier at the end of the Cours, nine o’clock was striking in the city behind them, and every stroke of it seemed to sound a note of doom.

Yet here at the barrier the regulations compelled a momentary halt.  Aline enquired of the sergeant-in-charge how long it was since a cabriolet such as she described had gone that way.  She was answered that some twenty minutes ago a vehicle had passed the barrier containing the deputy M. le Chapelier and the Paladin of the Third Estate, M. Moreau.  The sergeant was very well informed.  He could make a shrewd guess, he said, with a grin, of the business that took M. Moreau that way so early in the day.

They left him, to speed on now through the open country, following the road that continued to hug the river.  They sat back mutely despairing, staring hopelessly ahead, Aline’s hand clasped tight in madame’s.  In the distance, across the meadows on their right, they could see already the long, dusky line of trees of the Bois, and presently the carriage swung aside following a branch of the road that turned to the right, away from the river and heading straight for the forest.

Mademoiselle broke at last the silence of hopelessness that had reigned between them since they had passed the barrier.

“Oh, it is impossible that we should come in time!  Impossible!”

“Don’t say it!  Don’t say it!” madame cried out.

“But it is long past nine, madame!  Andre would be punctual, and these... affairs do not take long.  It... it will be all over by now.”

Madame shivered, and closed her eyes.  Presently, however, she opened them again, and stirred.  Then she put her head from the window.  “A carriage is approaching,” she announced, and her tone conveyed the thing she feared.

“Not already!  Oh, not already!” Thus Aline expressed the silently communicated thought.  She experienced a difficulty in breathing, felt the sudden need of air.  Something in her throat was throbbing as if it would suffocate her; a mist came and went before her eyes.

In a cloud of dust an open caleche was speeding towards them, coming from the Bois.  They watched it, both pale, neither venturing to speak, Aline, indeed, without breath to do so.

As it approached, it slowed down, perforce, as they did, to effect a safe passage in that narrow road.  Aline was at the window with Mme. de Plougastel, and with fearful eyes both looked into this open carriage that was drawing abreast of them.

“Which of them is it, madame?  Oh, which of them?” gasped Aline, scarce daring to look, her senses swimming.

On the near side sat a swarthy young gentleman unknown to either of the ladies.  He was smiling as he spoke to his companion.  A moment later and the man sitting beyond came into view.  He was not smiling.  His face was white and set, and it was the face of the Marquis de La Tour d’Azyr.