“What can I promise that is not yours?” she said in a serious tone.  “You saved my honour; my life belongs to you.”

The first glimmerings of dawn were now beginning to light the horizon.  We had reached the village of Saint-Severe, and soon afterward we entered the courtyard of the chateau.  On dismounting from her horse Edmee fell into her father’s arms; she was as pale as death.  M. de la Marche uttered a cry, and helped to carry her away.  She had fainted.  The cure took charge of me.  I was very uneasy about my fate.  The natural distrust of the brigand sprang up again as soon as I ceased to be under the spell of her who had managed to lure me from my den.  I was like a wounded wolf; I cast sullen glances about me, ready to rush at the first being who should stir my suspicions by a doubtful word or deed.  I was taken into a splendid room, and a meal, prepared with a luxury far beyond anything I could have conceived, was immediately served.  The cure displayed the kindest interest in me; and, having succeeded in reassuring me a little, he went to attend to his friend Patience.  The disturbed state of my mind and my remnant of uneasiness were not proof against the generous appetite of youth.  Had it not been for the respectful assiduity of a valet much better dressed than myself, who stood behind my chair, and whose politeness I could not help returning whenever he hastened to anticipate my wants, I should have made a terrific breakfast; as it was, the green coat and silk breeches embarrassed me considerably.  It was much worse when, going down on his knees, he set about taking off my boots preparatory to putting me to bed.  For the moment I thought he was playing a trick upon me, and came very near giving him a good blow on the head; but his manner was so serious as he went through this task that I sat and stared at him in amazement.

At first, at finding myself in bed without arms, and with people entering and leaving my room always on tip-toe, I again began to feel suspicious.  I took advantage of a moment when I was alone to get out of bed and take from the table, which was only half cleared, the longest knife I could find.  Feeling easier in my mind, I returned to bed and fell into a sound sleep, with the knife firmly clasped in my hand.

When I awoke again the rays of the setting sun, softened by my red damask curtains, were falling on my beautifully fine sheets and lighting up the golden pomegranates that adorned the corners of the bed.  This bed was so handsome and soft that I felt inclined to make it my apologies for having slept in it.  As I was about to get up I saw a kindly, venerable face looking through the half-drawn curtains and smiling.  It was the Chevalier Hubert de Mauprat.  He inquired anxiously about the state of my health.  I endeavoured to be polite and to express my gratitude; but the language I used seemed so different from his that I was disconcerted and pained at my awkwardness without