Through the interstices of the overspreading branches we could see a
perfectly clear blue sky. The slightest movement of air made the leaves
rustle sleepily, dreamily. Save the chirping of the birds, no other sound
emanated from the forest. The murmur of the river at the foot of the
wooded steep came up to us. In a corner of the yard the two gypsies lay
asleep. Some of my men were off on various employments. A few had gone
for game; others to fish. One of them, Frojac, was in Clochonne disguised
as a peasant, to keep a watch on the garrison there. The party of
foragers had not returned. Of the men at the chateau, those who were not
on guard were with Blaise Tripault in the great hall, where they had just
finished eating and drinking, Hugo had gone to the stables to feed
mademoiselle's horses. Jeannotte was asleep in her chamber. Mademoiselle
and I sat in silence, in the midst of a solitude, a remote tranquillity,
a dreamy repose that it was difficult to imagine as ever to be broken.
She seemed to yield to the benign influence of this enchanted place. She
leaned back restfully, closed her eyes, and smiled.
Suddenly there came from within the chateau the sound of my men singing.
Their rude, strong voices were low at first, but they rose in pitch and
volume as their song progressed. Mademoiselle ceased to smile, opened her
eyes, again took on the look of dark foreboding.
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