He left his post and joined his companion.
"Rudolf," he said, bawling into his ear, "come with me! Our birds will not fly away to-night." The two sentries came to the front of the house and stared at the red-litten blinds.
"What a night!" cried Rudolf.

"Not a citizen would thrust his nose out of doors." "Not even the little Chateaudoux's sweetheart," replied the other, with a grin.
They stared again at the red blinds, and in a lull of the wind a clock struck nine.
"There is an hour before the magistrate comes," said Rudolf.
"You take that hour," said his companion; "I will have the hour after the magistrate has gone." Rudolf ran across to the inn.

The sentinel at the door remained behind.
Both men were pleased,--Rudolf because he had his hour immediately, his fellow-soldier because once the magistrate had come and gone, he would take as long as he pleased.
Meanwhile the man and woman hand in hand drew nearer to the villa, but very slowly.

For, apart from the weather's hindrances, the woman's anger had grown.

She stopped, she fell down when there was no need to fall, she wept, she struggled to free her hand, and finally, when they had taken shelter beneath a portico, she sank down on the stone steps, and with many oaths and many tears refused to budge a foot.