ith her enemy, Paul de
Roustache. "However I could probably smuggle her away; and at least he
should n't speak to her," he reflected, and was somewhat comforted.

At the top of the hill the formation was rather peculiar. The crown
once reached, the ground dipped very suddenly from all sides, forming a
round depression in shape like a basin and at the lowest point some
twenty feet beneath the top of its enclosing walls. In this circular
hollow--not in the centre, but no more than six feet from the base of
the slope by which the Captain approached--stood the shepherd's hut.
Its door was open, swinging to and fro as the gusts of wind rose and
tell. The Captain ran down and entered. There was nothing inside but
a rough stool, a big and heavy block, something like those one may see
in butcher's shops (probably it had served the shepherds for seat or
table, as need arose), and five or six large trusses of dry maize-straw
flung down in a corner. The place was small, rude, and comfortless
enough, but if the hanging door, past which the rain drove in fiercely,
could be closed, the four walls of sawn logs would afford decent
shelter from the storm during the brief period of the conference which
the Captain awaited.

Dieppe looked at his watch; he could just see the figures--it was ten
minutes to six. Mounting again to the summit, he looked round. Yes,
there she was, making her way up the hill, painfully struggling with
refractory cloak and skirt. A moment later she joined him and gave him
her hand, panting out:

"Oh, I 'm so glad you 're here! There 's the most fearful trouble."

There was, of more than one kind; none knew it better than Dieppe.

"One need not, all the same, get any wetter," he remarked. "Come into
the hut, madame."

She paid no heed to his words, but stood there looking forlornly round.
But the next instant the Captain enforced his invitation by catching
hold of her arm and dragging her a pace or two down the hill, while he
threw himself on the ground, his head just over the top of the
eminence. "Hush," he whispered. His keen ear had caught a footstep on
the road, although darkness and mist prevented him from seeing who
approached. It was barely six. Was Paul de Roustache an hour too
early?

"What is it?" she asked in a low, anxious voice. "Is anybody coming?
Oh, if it should be Andrea!"

"It's not the Count, but-- Come down into the hut, madame. You must
n't be seen."

Now she obey