But it was too late to recall what he had done; and La Tour again sunk into a train of reflections, though of a more tranquil nature than those which before agitated him.  Recent occurrences had revived the recollections of earlier years; and he looked back, with softened feelings, on those peaceful scenes, which he had left in youth to buffet with the storms of life, and the still fiercer storms of passion.  His thoughts were, at length, exclusively occupied with the appearance of the female whom he so unexpectedly encountered on the first evening of his imprisonment, and whose features he had instantly identified with an image once most dear to him; but which had, long since, been absorbed in the pursuits of interest, and the struggles of ambition.  The time had indeed gone by, when associations, blended with that image, could deeply agitate him; and, connected as they were, with his aversion to D’Aulney, they tended to excite emotions of anger rather than of tenderness.

But, whatever was the nature of his feelings, they were shortly diverted to another channel by a low sound from without the door, which announced the cautious withdrawing of its bolts.  The next instant it was opened by the guard who had before entered; and La Tour, surprised at his appearing so unseasonably,—­for it was after midnight—­was about to question him, when he pointed significantly to the door, and again hastily retired.

“Antoine!” exclaimed La Tour, suddenly recognizing in him a soldier of his own, who, on some former occasion, had been taken prisoner by D’Aulney, and voluntarily remained in his service.  The call was unanswered; but presently the door again opened, and a figure entered, dressed in priestly guise, with a cowl drawn closely over his face.  La Tour, at first, thought only of father Gilbert; and, with undefined expectation, rose to meet him; but another glance showed, that this person was low in stature, and altogether different in appearance from the monk.  He retreated, with a sensation of keen disappointment; and believing that he saw before him some emissary from D’Aulney, he asked, impatiently,

“Who are you, that steal in upon my solitude at this untimely hour? that garb is your protection, or you might have reason to repent this rash and unwelcome intrusion!”

The object of this interrogation and menace seemed to shrink from the searching gaze of La Tour; and, without returning a word in reply, covered his face with both hands, as if still more effectually to conceal his features.

“What trick of priestcraft is this?” demanded La Tour, angrily; “is it not enough, that I am held in duresse by a villain’s power, but must I be denied, even the poor privilege of bearing my confinement unmolested?  What, silent yet!” he added, in a tone of sarcasm; “methinks, thou art a novice in thy cunning trade, or thou wouldst not be so chary of thy ghostly counsel, or so slow to shrive the conscience of a luckless prisoner!”