I was for going in too, when I felt Madame d'O's hand tighten
suddenly on my arm, and then fall from it. Apprised of something
by this, I glanced at the priest's face, catching sight of it by
chance just as his eyes met hers. His face was white--nay it was
ugly with disappointment and rage, bitter snarling rage, that was
hardly human. He grasped her by the arm roughly and twisted her
round without ceremony, so as to draw her a few paces aside; yet
not so far that I could not hear what they said.

"He is not here!" he hissed. "Do you understand? He crossed
the river to the Faubourg St. Germain at nightfall--searching for
her. And he has not come back! He is on the other side of the
water, and midnight has struck this hour past!"

She stood silent for a moment as if she had received a blow--
silent and dismayed. Something serious had happened. I could
see that.

"He cannot recross the river now?" she said after a time. "The
gates--"

"Shut!" he replied briefly. "The keys are at the Louvre."

"And the boats are on this side?"

"Every boat!" he answered, striking his one hand on the other
with violence. "Every boat! No one may cross until it is over."

"And the Faubourg St. Germain?" she said in a lower voice.