’Insolent!  Why, did I not excuse this as a childish delusion, should I not spurn one who durst love—­what say I—­not a heretic merely, but the foe of her father’s house?’

‘He!’ cried Eustacie; ‘what had he ever done?’

‘He inherited the blood of the traitor Baron,’ returned her aunt.  ’Ever have that recreant line injured us!  My nephew’s sword avenged the wrongs of many generations.’

‘Then,’ said Eustacie, looking at her with a steady, fixed look of inquire, ’you, Madame l’Abbesse, would have neither mercy nor pity for the most innocent offspring of the elder line?’

’Girl, what folly is this to talk to me of innocence.  That is not the question.  The question is—­obey willingly as my dear daughter, or compulsion must be used.’

‘My question is answered,’ said Eustacie, on her side.  ’I see that there is neither pity nor hope from you.’

And with another obeisance, she turned to ascend the stairs.  Madame paced back to her brother.

‘What,’ he said; ‘you have not yet dealt with her?’

’No, brother, I never saw a like mood.  She seems neither to fear nor to struggle.  I knew she was too true a Ribaumont for weak tears and entreaties; but, fiery little being as once she was, I looked to see her force spend itself in passion, and that then the victory would have been easy; but no, she ever looks as if she had some inward resource—­some security—­and therefore could be calm.  I should deem it some Huguenot fanaticism, but she is a very saint as to the prayers of the Church, the very torment of our lives.’

‘Could she escape?’ exclaimed the Chevalier, who had been considering while his sister was speaking.

’Impossible!  Besides, where could she go?  But the gates shall be closed.  I will warn the portress to let none pass out without my permission.’

’The Chevalier took a turn up and down the room; then exclaimed, ’It was very ill-advised to let her women have access to her!  Let us have Veronique summoned instantly.’

At that moment, however, the ponderous carriage of Monseigneur, with out-riders, both lay and clerical, came trampling up to the archway, and the Abbess hurried off to her own apartment to divest herself of her hunting-gear ere she received her guest; and the orders to one of the nuns to keep a watch on her niece were oddly mixed with those to the cook, confectioner, and butterer.

La Mere Marie Saraphine was not a cruel or an unkind woman.  She had been very fond of her pretty little niece in her childhood, but had deeply resented the arrangement which had removed her from her own superintendence to that of the Englishwoman, besides the uniting to the young Baron one whom she deemed the absolute right of Narcisse.  She had received Eustacie on her first return with great joy, and had always treated her with much indulgence, and when the drooping, broken-hearted girl came back once more to the shelter of her convent, the good-humoured Abbess only wished to make her happy again.