Some leaves,
which had been blown in by the wind, rustled in a corner.
I went out moodily into the garden and wandered down one path and
up another, looking at the dripping woods, and remembering
things, until I came to the stone seat. On it, against the wall,
trickling with raindrops, and with a dead leaf half filling its
narrow neck, stood the pitcher of food. I thought how much had
happened since Mademoiselle took her hand from it and the
sergeant's lanthorn disclosed it to me; and, sighing grimly, I
went in again through the parlour door.
A woman was on her knees, on the hearth kindling the belated
fire. She had her back to me, and I stood a moment looking at
her doubtfully, wondering how she would bear herself and what she
would say to me. Then she turned, and I started back, crying out
her name in horror--for it was Madame! Madame de Cocheforet!
She was plainly dressed, and her childish face was wan and
piteous with weeping; but either the night had worn out her
passion and drained her tears, or some great exigency had given
her temporary calmness, for she was perfectly composed.
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