ing," said the Baron; "we will enlist her with
the hussars as soon as she leaves the 'Sacred Heart.' Come, Aline."

The young girl kissed the Baroness, gathered up her skirt, and in a few
moments was in the yard patting the neck of her dear brown mare.

"Up with you!" said Christian, taking his sister's foot in one hand
while he raised her with the other, placing her in the saddle as easily
as he would a six-year-old child. Then he mounted his large horse,
saluted his wife, and the couple, starting at a trot, soon disappeared
down the avenue, which began at the gate of the courtyard.

As soon as they were out of sight, Clemence went to her room, took a
shawl from her bed, and went rapidly down a secret stairway which led
into the gardens.

CHAPTER IV. THE GALLANT IN THE GARDEN

Madame de Bergenheim's apartments occupied the first floor of the wing
on the left side of the house. On the ground floor were the library,
a bathroom, and several guest-chambers. The large windows had a modern
look, but they were made to harmonize with the rest of the house by
means of grayish paint. At the foot of this facade was a lawn surrounded
by a wall and orange-trees planted in tubs, forming a sort of English
garden, a sanctuary reserved for the mistress of the castle, and which
brought her, as a morning tribute, the perfume of its flowers and the
coolness of its shade.

Through the tops of the fir-trees and the tuliptrees, which rose above
the group of smaller shrubs, the eye could follow the winding river
until it finally disappeared at the extremity of the valley. It was
this picturesque view and a more extensive horizon which had induced
the Baroness to choose this part of the Gothic manor for her own private
apartments.

After crossing the lawn, the young woman opened a gate concealed by
shrubs and entered the avenue by the banks of the river. This avenue
described a curve around the garden, and led to the principal entrance
of the chateau. Night was approaching, the countryside, which had been
momentarily disturbed by the storm, had resumed its customary serenity.
The leaves of the trees, as often happens after a rain, looked as fresh
as a newly varnished picture. The setting sun cast long shadows through
the trees, and their interlaced branches looked like a forest of
boa-constrictors.

Clemence advanced slowly under this leafy dome, which became darker and
more mysterious every moment, with head bent and enveloped