His last words—­they certainly were odd ones—­arrested her attention.  She checked her sobs, being frightened I think, and looked up at him.  Perhaps he had spoken with this in view, for while she still stood at gaze, her hands pressed to her bosom, he slipped quickly out and closed the door behind him.  I heard a muttering for an instant outside, and then the tramp of feet descending the stairs.  They were gone, and we were still undiscovered.

For Madame, she had clean forgotten our presence—­of that I am sure—­and the chance of escape we might afford.  On finding herself alone she gazed a short time in alarmed silence at the door, and then ran to the window and peered out, still trembling, terrified, silent.  So she remained a while.

She had not noticed that Bezers on going out had omitted to lock the door behind him.  I had.  But I was unwilling to move hastily.  Some one might return to see to it before the Vidame left the house.  And besides the door was not over strong, and if locked would be no obstacle to the three of us when we had only Mirepoix to deal with.  So I kept the others where they were by a nudge and a pinch, and held my breath a moment, straining my ears to catch the closing of the door below.  I did not hear that.  But I did catch a sound that otherwise might have escaped me, but which now riveted my eyes to the door of our room.  Some one in the silence, which followed the trampling on the stairs, had cautiously laid a hand on the latch.

The light in the room was dim.  Mirepoix had taken one of the candles with him, and the other wanted snuffing.  I could not see whether the latch moved; whether or no it was rising.  But watching intently, I made out that the door was being opened—­ slowly, noiselessly.  I saw someone enter—­a furtive gliding shadow.

For a moment I felt nervous—­then I recognised the dark hooded figure.  It was only Madame d’O.  Brave woman!  She had evaded the Vidame and slipped back to the rescue.  Ha, ha!  We would defeat the Vidame yet!  Things were going better!

But then something in her manner—­as she stood holding the door and peering into the room—­something in her bearing startled and frightened me.  As she came forward her movements were so stealthy that her footsteps made no sound.  Her dark shadow, moving ahead of her across the floor, was not more silent than she.  An undefined desire to make a noise, to give the alarm, seized me.

Half-way across the room she stopped to listen, and looked round, startled herself, I think, by the silence.  She could not see her sister, whose figure was blurred by the outlines of the curtain; and no doubt she was puzzled to think what had become of her.  The suspense which I felt, but did not understand, was so great that at last I moved, and the bed creaked.