‘Folly, child, folly,’ said the Chevalier, who supposed her ignorant of the circumstances of her husband’s assassination; and the Abbess, who was really ignorant, exclaimed—­’Fid donc_ niece; you know not what you say.’

‘I know, Madame—­I know from an eye-witness,’ said Eustacie, firmly.  ’I know the brutal words that embittered my husband’s death; and were there no other cause, they would render wedlock with him who spoke them sacrilege.’  Resolutely and steadily did the young wife speak, looking at them with the dry fixed eye to which tears had been denied ever since that eventful night.’

‘Poor child,’ said the Chevalier to his sister.  ’She is under the delusion still.  Husband!  There is none in the case.’  Then waving his hand as Eustacie’s face grew crimson, and her eyes flashed indignation, while her lips parted, ’It was her own folly that rendered it needful to put an end to the boy’s presumption.  Had she been less willful and more obedient, instead of turning the poor lad’s head by playing at madame, we could have let him return to his island fogs; but when SHE encouraged him in contemplating the carrying her away, and alienating her and her lands from the true faith, there was but one remedy—­to let him perish with the rest.  My son is willing to forgive her childish pleasure in a boy’s passing homage, and has obtained the King’s sanction to an immediate marriage.’

‘Which, to spare you, my dear,’ added the aunt, ’shall take place in our chapel.’

‘It shall never take place anywhere,’ said Eustacie, quietly, though with a quiver in her voice; ’no priest will wed me when he has heard me.’

‘The dispensation will overcome all scruples,’ said the Abbess.  ’Hear me, niece.  I am sorry for you, but it is best that you should know at once that there is nothing in heaven or earth to aid you in resisting your duty.’

Eustacie made no answer, but there was a strange half-smile on her lip, and a light in her eye which gave her an air not so much of entreaty as of defiance.  She glanced from one to the other, as if considering, but then slightly shook her head.  ’What does she mean?’ asked the Chevalier and the Abbess one of another, as, with a dignified gesture, she moved to leave the room.

‘Follow her.  Convince her that she has no hope,’ said the uncle; and the Abbess, moving faster than her wont, came up with her at the archway whence one corridor led to the chapel, another to her own apartments.  Her veil was down again, but her aunt roughly withdrew it, saying, ’Look at me, Eustacie.  I come to warn you that you need not look to tamper with the sisters.  Not one will aid you in your headstrong folly.  If you cast not off ere supper-time this mockery of mourning, you shall taste of that discipline you used to sigh for.  We have borne with your fancy long enough—­ you, who are no more a widow than I—­nor wife.’

‘Wife and widow am I in the sight of Him who will protect me,’ said Eustacie, standing her ground.