Some leaves, which had been blown in by the wind, rustled in a corner.
I went out moodily into the garden and wandered down one path and up another, looking at the dripping woods, and remembering things, until I came to the stone seat.

On it, against the wall, trickling with raindrops, and with a dead leaf half filling its narrow neck, stood the pitcher of food.

I thought how much had happened since Mademoiselle took her hand from it and the sergeant's lanthorn disclosed it to me; and, sighing grimly, I went in again through the parlour door.
A woman was on her knees, on the hearth kindling the belated fire.

She had her back to me, and I stood a moment looking at her doubtfully, wondering how she would bear herself and what she would say to me.

Then she turned, and I started back, crying out her name in horror--for it was Madame! Madame de Cocheforet! She was plainly dressed, and her childish face was wan and piteous with weeping; but either the night had worn out her passion and drained her tears, or some great exigency had given her temporary calmness, for she was perfectly composed.