Bewildered, half frantic with the bitterness of disappointment, she looked round her helplessly, and, bending down quite close to her, she saw through the mist, which seemed to gather round her, a pair of keen, malicious eyes, which appeared to her excited brain to have a weird, supernatural green light in them. She lay in the shadow of a great boulder;Chauvelin could not see her features, but he passed his thin, white fingers over her face.
"A woman!" he whispered, "by all the Saints in the calendar.""We cannot let her loose, that's certain," he muttered to himself.
"I wonder now. . ."
Suddenly he paused, after a few moment of deadly silence, he gave forth a long, low, curious chuckle, while once again Marguerite felt, with a horrible shudder, his thin fingers wandering over her face.