confirm and exasperate, in furtherance of his own schemes, the
suspicions of Monsieur Le Prun.

This latter task circumstances rendered an easy one, and Blassemare
executed it without giving any definite direction to Le Prun's inflamed
jealousy. So far, indeed, was he from suspecting the identity of the
criminal, that he brought De Secqville two or three times to sup at the
Chateau des Anges, an act of temerity which excited Blassemare's anxiety
and vigilance. That gentleman had therefore kept so close and constant a
watch upon the handsome Marquis, that he had not, upon any of these
occasions, an opportunity of exchanging a single sentence with Madame Le
Prun.

The occasional appearance of De Secqville at the Chateau des Anges was a
sufficient proof that Blassemare had kept the secret with fidelity.
Madame Le Prun, therefore, was far from suspecting that _he_ was in
secret the inspiring cause of that ominous restraint, the pressure of
which she began to feel every day more and more severely. One by one her
personal attendants were removed. Gradually she felt the process of
isolation shrouding her from the eyes of her fellow-creatures. Her walks
were prescribed and restricted; and with bitter resentment she perceived
that she was subjected to the outrage of a systematic espionage. The
face of M. Le Prun was always darkened with hatred and menace. Every day
made his power more directly felt, and more nearly reduced her to his
solitary, rare, and sinister companionship. At last a note, in M. Le
Prun's hand, upon her table, announced in a few barbarous and insulting
words that his niece Julie had been removed, by his orders, from the
contagion of a companionship unfit for innocence. This was to Lucille a
frightful blow. Her solitude was now virtually complete. Her own old
faithful servant, Marguerite, had been withdrawn; and a tall pale Norman
matron, taciturn and sardonic, was now her sole attendant. It was plain,
too, that M. Le Prun had gradually removed his establishment from the
Chateau des Anges. The gay and gorgeous staff of servants and grooms
had disappeared. The salons, halls, and lobbies of the vast mansion were
silent as the chambers of a mausoleum--the outer courts still and
deserted. She was becoming the prisoner of an enraged tyrant, alone, in
the midst of an impenetrable and funereal solitude.

In fact, many prisoners of state enjoyed a great deal more liberty than
she; for not only was she restricted t