On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. It is you who took my name, not I yours. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. ‘I will fight to the death, if it needs. It may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely.
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