“You have many prisoners left,” said Madame d’Aulney, carelessly; “and this one, though the chief, was he so very important as to justify all this severity?”

“It matters not, madame,” he answered, sternly; “but I care not to have my wishes thwarted by cunning; my plans defeated by fraud and artifice.  Yet your curiosity shall be gratified,” he added; “or, tell me, do you not already know who has so narrowly escaped the punishment his crimes have well deserved?”

“You told me,” she replied, “that it was a lieutenant of M. de la Tour’s, and I have, of course, sought no further information.”

“It is well that you did not;” he said, hastily; “but suppose I should now tell you that it was the miscreant, La Tour himself, would that palliate the severity of which you are so ready to accuse me?”

“It would not extenuate the subterfuge which at first concealed the truth from me,” she answered, with an indignant blush, “nor atone for a want of confidence, which I had not deserved from you.”

“And of what importance was this mighty secret to you?” he asked, sarcastically; “methinks you should rather thank me for the kindness which saved you”—­

“It was well,” she interrupted, in an accent of decision, “and now let it pass forever.  Your kind precaution, fortunately, has prevented some suspicions, which, I perceive, you were but too ready to indulge.”

“I yet trust he has not quite escaped;” resumed D’Aulney, after a moment’s pause; “I have sent out parties in every direction through the neighbouring country, and swift boats across the bay; and he must be gifted with almost supernatural powers, to elude pursuit.  His return shall be loudly celebrated,” he added, with a gloomy smile; “and you shall not complain, Adele, that we do not call you in to the rejoicings!”

“I think he will avoid giving that triumph,” she replied; “for he doubtless anticipated your pursuit, and was prepared to elude it; some of his own people were, most probably, in concert with the priest, to secure him a safe retreat.”

“I doubt not that you wish it,” said D’Aulney, angrily; “that you rejoice in his success, though it abolish my fairest schemes, and prolong a conflict which has already proved pernicious to my fortune and interests.”

“I can wish for no event,” she answered, mildly, “which would retard your honorable designs, and defeat any rational prospect of happiness or advantage; neither can I adopt prejudices which I do not comprehend, or wish evil to one who has never injured me.”

“It is well, madame,” he replied; “and your benevolence, perchance, will be rewarded.  But, though he now escape, believe me, the hour of vengeance will one day arrive; I will follow him till he surrenders the possessions so unlawfully retained, and ceases to assume a power which has no longer an existence, but in name.”

“And is it for a name only, that you contend?” asked Mad. d’Aulney; “must our domestic peace and safety remain in jeopardy, and the din of strife forever ring around us, because a powerless enemy refuses to yield imaginary rights?”