not conceal her disquietude, and this increased the
suspicions that had already been aroused. The inn-keeper, who was a
zealous patriot, compelled her to go with him to the district
Commissioner. Her presence of mind deserted her; and her incoherent
replies and her reticence caused her arrest. The Commissioner intended
to send her to Nantes; but she begged so hard to be sent to Paris,
instead, that he finally granted her request. That same evening a party
of prisoners from La Vendee passed through the village; and Antoinette
was entrusted to the care of the officer in charge of them. After a long
and painful journey, she at last reached Paris, where the Conciergerie
opened to receive her.

Such was the story she related to Dolores. The latter listened to it in
silence. When it was ended, she said to her friend:

"Now you must sleep and regain your strength. Have no fears, I will
watch over you."

"If I could only see Philip!" sighed Antoinette.

"You shall see him; I promise you that."

Antoinette submissively closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. Dolores
sat motionless, her thoughts busy with what she had just heard. In all
this narrative she had clearly understood only two things: first, that
it was the hope of discovering and saving Philip, whom she still
passionately loved, that had induced Mlle. de Mirandol to make this
journey which had terminated so disastrously, and secondly, that Philip
only a few weeks before had solemnly renewed an engagement which he had
concealed from her.

"What shall I do?" asked the poor girl, as she remembered with a
breaking heart her blissful dreams of the evening before.

Her own great love stood face to face with that of Antoinette. Which
should be sacrificed? Antoinette's most assuredly, since Philip loved
Dolores. But she dare not contemplate such a solution of the problem.

"What!" she thought; "after the Marquis de Chamondrin has reared me as
his own child, I repay his kindness by encouraging his son to disobey
his last wishes? No, no! It is impossible! He made him promise to marry
Antoinette; and Philip did promise, first his father and afterwards
Antoinette. What does it matter if he does love me! When he no longer
sees me, he will forget me! Antoinette will again become dear to him.
They will be happy. What am I, that I should destroy the plans that were
so dear to the heart of my benefactor? Have I not made one sacrifice,
and can I not make another? Come, Dolores, b