1 Philip Massinger (1583–1640), a British playwright, and a contemporary of Shakespeare.

"The glass mustn't be broken," Mathilde answered, trying unsuccessfully to speak in an ordinary conversational tone. "You could, I should think, lower the ladder, using a rope tied to the first rung. I always keep ropes in my room." "And this is a woman in love!" thought Julien. "She has the nerve to say she's in love! Such calm, such sensible precautions, show me very plainly that I'm not triumphing over Monsieur de Croisenois, as I so foolishly believed. I've simply become his successor. Really, what does it matter? Am I in love with her? I've won a victory over de Croisenois, because he'll be exceedingly angry, having a successor at all, and angrier still to have that successor be me. How arrogantly he looked at me, yesterday night, at Café Tortoni,2 pretending he didn't even know me! How nastily he greeted me, afterward, when he couldn't get out of it any longer." Julien had tied a rope to the ladder; it went down quietly, leaning far enough out from the balcony to keep from touching the glass panes. "Just the time to kill me," he thought, "if there's someone hidden in Mathilde's room." But a profound silence still hung over everything. The ladder touched the ground; Julien managed to lay it down in a bed of exotic flowers, along the wall. "What will my mother say," said Mathilde, "when she sees her beautiful flowers all crushed? ... You've got to throw the rope down, too," she added with immense calm. "If anyone sees it leading back to the balcony, it won't be easy to explain." "And how me go 'way?" Julien said wryly, assuming a Creole accent. (One of the chambermaids had been born in San Domingo.3) "You, you'll leave by the door," said Mathilde, fascinated by the idea. "Ah, this is a man fully worthy of my love!" she thought. Julien had just dropped the rope into the garden; Mathilde took him by the arm. He thought he'd been seized by some enemy, and turned around quickly, drawing a dagger. She'd thought she heard a window opening. They stood motionless, not even breathing. The moon fell full on them. There was no other sound, no further cause for alarm. Then they were once again seriously embarrassed, both of them. Julien made sure that the door had been properly closed, all the bolts thrown. He'd thought of looking under the bed but did not dare; there could be a servant or two under there. In the end, he was so worried that prudence would make him regret the omission, at some future date, that he looked. Mathilde had been gripped by all the torments of extreme shyness. This horrified her. "What have you done with my letters?" she asked at last. "Just the time to shake up these gentlemen, if they're listening, and to avoid a battle!" thought Julien. "The first one is hidden in a huge Protestant Bible, which the mail coach carried away, last night, and will be taking far away." He spoke very clearly, as he gave her all the details, so he could be heard by anyone who might be hidden, perhaps, in the two big mahogany armoires, which he hadn't dared look into. "The other two are in the mail, going to the same place as the first." "Good Lord! Why all these precautions?" asked Mathilde, astonished. "Is there some reason for lying to her?" thought Julien. And he told her all his suspicions.