CHAPTER XXXV: Marguerite.
As he re-entered the large room, she was standing beside the table, with one dainty hand resting against the back of the chair, her whole graceful figure bent forward as if in an agony of ardent expectation.
Never for an instant, in that supreme moment when his precious life was at stake, did she waver in courage or presence of mind.

From the moment that he jumped up and took the candlesticks in his hands, her sixth sense showed her as in a flash what he meant to do and how he would wish her to act.
When the room was plunged in darkness she stood absolutely still; when she heard the scuffle on the floor she never trembled, for her passionate heart had already told her that he never meant to deliver that infamous letter into his enemies' hands.

Then, when there was the general scramble, when the soldiers rushed away, when the room became empty and Chauvelin alone remained, she shrank quietly into the darkest corner of the room, hardly breathing, only waiting....

Waiting for a sign from him! She could not see him, but she felt the beloved presence there, somewhere close to her, and she knew that he would wish her to wait....
She watched him silently...

ready to help if he called...