“It makes no difference whether I know his name or not, since I am not at liberty to disclose it to you.  Think over your numerous admirers, mademoiselle! the most ardent and least favoured one among them would probably be at the bottom of all this.”

Finding that she could not get any information from him, Isabelle desisted, and did not speak again.  She had not the slightest doubt that the Duke of Vallombreuse was the author of this new and daring enterprise.  The significant and threatening way in which he had said “au revoir, mademoiselle,” as he quitted her presence after she had repulsed him a few days before, had haunted her, and she had been in constant dread ever since of some new outrage.  She hoped, against hope, that de Sigognac, her valiant lover, would yet come to her rescue, and thought proudly of the gallant deeds he had already done in her behalf that day—­but how was he to find out where to seek her?

“If worst comes to worst,” she said to herself, “I still have Chiquita’s knife, and I can and will escape from my persecutor in that way, if all other means fail.”

For two long hours she sat motionless, a prey to sad and terrible thoughts and fears, while the carriage rolled swiftly on without slackening its speed, save once, for a moment, when they changed horses.  As the curtains were all lowered, she could not catch even a glimpse of the country she was passing through, nor tell in what direction she was being driven.  At last she heard the hollow sound of a drawbridge under the wheels; the carriage stopped, and her masked companion, promptly opening the door, jumped nimbly out and helped her to alight.  She cast a hurried glance round her, as she stepped down, saw that she was in a large, square court, and that all the tall, narrow windows in the high brick walls that surrounded it had their inside shutters carefully closed.  The stone pavement of the spacious courtyard was in some places partly covered with moss, and a few weeds had sprung up in the corners, and along the edges by the walls.  At the foot of a broad, easy flight of steps, leading up to a covered porch, two majestic Egyptian sphinxes lay keeping guard; their huge rounded flanks mottled here and there with patches of moss and lichens.  Although the large chateau looked lonely and deserted, it had a grand, lordly air, and seemed to be kept in perfect order and repair.  Isabelle was led up the steps and into the vestibule by the man who had brought her there, and then consigned to the care of a respectable-looking majordomo, who preceded her up a magnificent staircase, and into a suite of rooms furnished with the utmost luxury and elegance.  Passing through the first—­which was enriched with fine old carvings in oak, dark with age—­he left her in a spacious, admirably proportioned apartment, where a cheery wood fire was roaring up the huge chimney, and she saw a bed in a curtained alcove.  She chanced to catch sight of her own face in the mirror over an elaborately