They sprang to their feet at that.  But the light and its bearer, who so far recovered himself as to chuckle at his master’s pious thought, had disappeared.  They were left to pace the room, and reproach themselves and curse the Vidame in an agony of late repentance.  Not even Marie could find a loop-hole of escape from here.  The door was double-locked; the windows so barred that a cat could scarcely pass through them; the walls were of solid masonry.

Meanwhile I lay and feigned to sleep, and lay feigning through long, long hours; though my heart like theirs throbbed in response to the dull hammering that presently began without, and not far from us, and lasted until daybreak.  From our windows, set low and facing a wall, we could see nothing.  But we could guess what the noise meant, the dull, earthy thuds when posts were set in the ground, the brisk, wooden clattering when one plank was laid to another.  We could not see the progress of the work, or hear the voices of the workmen, or catch the glare of their lights.  But we knew what they were doing.  They were raising the scaffold.

CHAPTER XII.

Joy in the morning.

I was too weary with riding to go entirely without sleep.  And moreover it is anxiety and the tremor of excitement which make the pillow sleepless, not, heaven be thanked, sorrow.  God made man to lie awake and hope:  but never to lie awake and grieve.  An hour or two before daybreak I fell asleep, utterly worn out.  When I awoke, the sun was high, and shining slantwise on our window.  The room was gay with the morning rays, and soft with the morning freshness, and I lay a while, my cheek on my hand, drinking in the cheerful influence as I had done many and many a day in our room at Caylus.  It was the touch of Marie’s hand, laid timidly on my arm, which roused me with a shock to consciousness.  The truth broke upon me.  I remembered where we were, and what was before us.  “Will you get up, Anne?” Croisette said.  “The Vidame has sent for us.”

I got to my feet, and buckled on my sword.  Croisette was leaning against the wall, pale and downcast.  Bure filled the open doorway, his feathered cap in his hand, a queer smile on his face.  “You are a good sleeper, young gentleman,” he said.  “You should have a good conscience.”

“Better than yours, no doubt!” I retorted, “or your master’s.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and, bidding us by a sign to follow him, led the way through several gloomy passages.  At the end of these, a flight of stone steps leading upwards seemed to promise something better; and true enough, the door at the top being opened, the murmur of a crowd reached our ears, with a burst of sunlight and warmth.  We were in a lofty room, with walls in some places painted, and elsewhere hung with tapestry; well lighted by three old pointed windows reaching to the rush-covered floor.  The room was large, set here and there with stands of arms, and had a dais with a raised carved chair at one end.  The ceiling was of blue, with gold stars set about it.  Seeing this, I remembered the place.  I had been in it once, years ago, when I had attended the Vicomte on a state visit to the governor.  Ah! that the Vicomte were here now!