The curtains hung between.
She was as light as a bird in her movements.

She drew the bed-gown nearer, thrust her feet into heelless slippers, placed convenient for her morning rising by her maid, opened the box of pistols, lifted one of them, examining it on the instant to see that it was ready for use, slipped on the wrapper, stepped toward the foot of the bed and waited.
The beat of the rain, the shriek of the wind, the roar of the thunder filled the room with sound, but the woman had good ears and they were well trained.

She could hear someone softly moving.

Sometimes, in lulls in the storm, she thought she could detect heavy breathing.
The natural impulse of the ordinary woman would have been to scream or if not that, having gained the floor, to rush to the door, or if not that to pull the bell cord and summon help.

But Laure d'Aumenier was not an ordinary woman.