Scarcely was the door in the back of the _armoire_ closed, and the interior of the cottage restored to its usual aspect, when Clara, as she listened anxiously, heard the tramp of horse--to her ears a sound accursed--and the shouting voice of soldiery disturbing the quiet solitude in which she had taken refuge. In another moment they entered the cottage, and she soon found that she herself together with several other royalists, was the object of their search. With breathless anxiety she continued to listen while the whole house was examined, with the exception of the very spot in which she lay concealed. Nor was her fear to end, even when the soldiers had satisfied themselves that she was not there; for, having given the farm of Dervais as a rendezvous to several of their comrades scattered over the hill, the dragoons remained for several hours, drinking, singing, and mingling together in a foul strain, which they called conversation, blasphemy, ferocity, boasting, and ribaldry. At length, however, after many a weary moment spent by Clara in intense anxiety, the soldiers were joined by their their companions; and, mounting their horses, they once more rode away, leaving her to a longer interval of peace and security than she had known for many months.
To the inhabitants of La Brousse's cottage the rest of the day passed in peace. With the old man and his young relative it went by in their usual occupations. To Clara de la Roche it passed in sleep; for grief and fatigue weighed heavy upon her eyelids, and she had not known one undisturbed hour of secure repose for many a long day. She was still asleep, when a light tap on the concealed door awoke her, and the voice of Ninette was heard, informing her that she might venture out of concealment, as the house was closed for the night. Clara now found herself in complete darkness, and had some difficulty in opening the door; but at length she discovered the spring, and issued forth gladly--for, whatever security it may bring along with it, confinement to one small space is never without its pain. The wide kitchen of La Brousse's farm-house was only lighted by one small resin candle; but the eyes of Clara de la Roche were dazzled for a moment, and she was in the midst of the room, ere she perceived another figure besides those of the good farmer and his young relation. It was that of a man of about six-and-twenty years of age, dressed in the garb of a peasant, and with a complexion so bronzed by the sun, as to speak plainly habits of constant exposure and toil. But still there was something in his appearance which at once made Clara de la Roche doubt that he was altogether that which he seemed. It was not alone that his face and his figure were as handsome and as finely formed as it is possible to behold; for impartial nature as often bestows her more perfect gifts upon the children of active industry as upon those of cultivation--and his was evidently a frame inured to toil and exertion; but it was that, with all, there was a calm grace, and easiness of position and of movement which is generally acquired, not given--which springs more frequently from cultivation of mind than from perfection of body--and which is difficult of attainment, even under every advantage of station and fortune.