What if he had deceived himself?
What if he had given back before them, not because she had willed it, not because she had looked at him, not in compliance with her wishes; but in face of the odds against him, and by virtue of some streak of cowardice latent in his nature?
The more he thought of it, the more he doubted if she had looked at him; the more likely it seemed that the look had been a straw, at which his craven soul had grasped! The thought maddened him.

But it was too late to return, too late to undo his act.

He must have left them a full half-hour.

The town was growing quiet, the sound of the evening psalms was ceasing.

The rustle of the wind among the branches covered the tread of the sentries as they walked the wall between the Porte Neuve and the Mint tower; only their harsh voices as they met midway and challenged came at intervals to his ears.