In her heart, long since atrophied, there were a few memories, carefully put away in a secret cell, and those memories caused the old woman to understand.
Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been broken, but the dream lingered on; they did not see Aunt Marie putting the room tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door.
But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition.

After Armand had asked for the hundredth time: "Tu m'aimes ?" and Jeanne for the hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, her fears for him suddenly returned.
Something had awakened her from her trance--a heavy footstep, mayhap, in the street below, the distant roll of a drum, or only the clash of steel saucepans in Aunt Marie's kitchen.

But suddenly Jeanne was alert, and with her alertness came terror for the beloved.
"Your life," she said--for he had called her his life just then, "your life--and I was forgetting that it is still in danger...

your dear, your precious life!" "Doubly dear now," he replied, "since I owe it to you." "Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sake--make all haste to leave Paris...

oh, this I beg of you!" she continued more earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; "every hour you spend in it brings danger nearer to your door." "I could not leave Paris while you are here." "But I am safe here," she urged; "quite, quite safe, I assure you.