Father Paul had watched over the first stages of the illness with the utmost care and tenderness, after which his duties called him away, and he had only returned some three days since.  The long hot summer in Bordeaux had been a very trying one for the patient, whose state prohibited any attempt at removal to a cooler, fresher air.  But as August was merging into September, and the days were growing shorter and the heat something less oppressive, it was hoped that there might be a favourable change in the patient’s state; and much was looked for also from Father Paul’s skill, which was accounted something very great.

Gaston and Roger had remained within the Monastery walls in close attendance upon the patient; but the restraint had been terribly irksome to the temper of the young knight, and he was panting to be free to pursue his quest, and to tell his story in the King’s ears.  He could not but dread that in his absence some harm might befall his Constanza.  Suppose those two remorseless men suspected her to be concerned in the flight of their victim, what form might not their vengeance take?  It was a thing that would scarce bear thinking of.  Yet what could he do to save her and to win her until he could make an organized attack upon Saut, armed with full authority from England’s King?

And now that Father Paul was back, might it not be possible that this could be done?  Gaston felt torn in twain betwixt his love for his brother and his love for his betrothed.  Father Paul would be able to advise him wisely and well.

The Father looked earnestly into the ardent and eager face of the youth, and answered quietly: 

“Methinks thou hast been here long enough, my son.  Thou mayest do better for Raymond by going forth upon the mission thou hast set thyself.  But first I would ask of thee a few questions.  Who is this lady of whom thy brother speaks so oft?”

“Lady?” questioned Gaston, his eyes opening wide in surprise.  “Does he indeed speak of a lady?”

The Father smiled at the question.

“Thy thoughts must have been as wandering as his if thou dost not know as much as that,” he said, with a look that brought the hot blood into Gaston’s cheek, for he well knew where his own thoughts had been whilst he sat beside his brother, scarce heeding the ceaseless murmur which babbled from his unconscious lips.

It had never occurred to him that he could learn aught by striving to catch those indistinct utterances; and his mind had been full to overflowing with his own affairs.

“I knew not that he spoke of any lady,” said the young knight, wondering for a moment, with love’s irrational jealousy, whether Raymond could have seen his Constanza and have lost his heart to her.

Had she not spoken of having slipped once into his cell to breathe in his ear a word of hope?  Might not even that passing glimpse at such a time have been enough to subjugate his heart?  He drew his breath hard, and an anxious light gleamed in his eye.  But the Father continued speaking, and a load seemed to roll from his spirit with the next words.