"Oh, y-yes; that is the p-p-programme," quavered Rose.

A key grated, and the iron gate creaked on its hinges. They ran together
and pinched one another for mutual support, but did not dare to speak.

Presently a man's shadow came slap into the tree. They crouched and
quivered, and expected to be caught instead of catching, and wished
themselves safe back in bed, and all this a nightmare, and no worse.

At last they recovered themselves enough to observe that this shadow,
one half of which lay on the ground, while the head and shoulders went a
little way up the wall of the tree, represented a man's profile, not his
front face. The figure, in short, was standing between them and the sun,
and was contemplating the chateau, not the tree.

The shadow took off its hat to Josephine, in the tree. Then would she
have screamed if she had not bitten her white hand instead, and made a
red mark thereon.

It wiped its brow with a handkerchief; it had walked fast, poor thing!
The next moment it was away.

They looked at one another and panted. They scarcely dared do it before.
Then Rose, with one hand on her heaving bosom, shook her little white
fist viciously at where the figure must be, and perhaps a comical
desire of vengeance stimulated her curiosity. She now glided through the
fissure like a cautious panther from her den; and noiseless and supple
as a serpent began to wind slowly round the tree. She soon came to a
great protuberance in the tree, and twining and peering round it with