'
We were back, a sombre little procession, at the wooden bridge
when I said this. He stopped.
'Very well,' he replied, nodding viciously. 'That decides me.
Sergeant, light me this way with a lanthorn. The rest of you to
the village. Now, Master Spy,' he continued, glancing at me with
gloomy spite, 'Your road is my road. I think I know how to spoil
your game.'
I shrugged my shoulders in disdain, and together, the sergeant
leading the way with the light, we crossed the dim meadow, and
passed through the gate where Mademoiselle had kissed my hand,
and up the ghostly walk between the rose bushes. I wondered
uneasily what the Lieutenant would be at, and what he intended;
but the lanthorn-light which now fell on the ground at our feet,
and now showed one of us to the other, high-lit in a frame of
blackness, discovered nothing in his grizzled face but settled
hostility. He wheeled at the end of the walk to go to the main
door, but as he did so I saw the flutter of a white skirt by the
stone seat against the house, and I stepped that way.
'Mademoiselle?' I said softly.
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