“But she may wish to go somewhere else, if she sees that I wish to bring her to you.”

“But I repeat that it is not to me that you are to bring her, but to the comte.  Really, one would think it was the first time you had aided me in such circumstances.  Have you money?”

“I have the two rouleaux of gold that you gave me when you left the camp.”

“Well, by any and every method, bring me the lady to Chateau-Thierry; perhaps when I see her nearer I shall recognize her.”

“And the man also?”

“Yes; if he is not troublesome.”

“But if he is?”

“Do with him what you would do with a stone which is in your way—­throw it away.”

“Good, monseigneur.”

While the two conspirators formed their plans, Henri went up and woke Remy.  He knocked at the door in a peculiar fashion, and it was almost immediately opened by Diana.  Behind Remy she perceived Henri.

“Good-evening, monsieur,” said she, with a smile which had long been foreign to her face.

“Oh! pardon me, madame,” said Henri, “for intruding on you; but I come to make my adieux.”

“Your adieux, comte; you are going?”

“To France, madame.”

“And you leave us?”

“I am forced to do so; my duty is to obey the prince.”

“The prince; is there a prince here?” asked Remy.

“Yes, M. le Duc d’Anjou, who was believed dead, and who has been miraculously saved, has joined us.”

Diana uttered a terrible cry, and Remy turned as pale as though he had been suddenly struck with death.

“The Duc d’Anjou living!” cried Diana.  “The Duc d’Anjou here?”

“Had he not been here, madame, and ordered me to follow him, I should have accompanied you to the convent into which you tell me you are about to retire.”

“Yes, yes,” said Remy; “the convent;” and he put his finger on his lip.

“I would have accompanied you the more willingly, madame.” said Henri; “because I fear that you may be annoyed by the prince’s people.”—­“How so?”

“Yes; I believe that he knows there is a lady here, and he thinks that she is a friend of mine.”

“And what makes you think so?”

“Our young ensign saw him place a ladder against this window and look in.”

“Oh!” cried Diana; “mon Dieu! mon Dieu!”

“Reassure yourself, madame! he heard him say that he did not know you.  Besides, the duke is going to set off at once—­in a quarter of an hour you will be alone and free.  Permit me to salute you with respect, and to tell you once more, that till my last sigh, my heart will beat for you and with you.  Adieu, madame, adieu.”  And the comte, bowing, took two steps back.

“No, no!” cried Diana, wildly, “no, God cannot have done this!  He cannot have brought this man to life again; no, monsieur, you must be wrong, he is dead.”

At this moment, as if in reply, the duke’s voice was heard calling from below: