again soundly
asleep. She might have concealed them in her bosom; and with an effort
of resolution Madame Le Prun stepped noiselessly beside her and tried
there. She was successful, but in drawing out the key her hand brushed
slightly on the slumbering woman's face, and to her unutterable terror
she started bolt upright in the chair, and stared with a wild and glassy
gaze in her face. Lucille's heart died within her; she froze with
terror; but the action was purely physical, the woman's senses were
still slumbering; there was no trace of meaning in her face; and in a
few moments she fell back again in the same profound sleep.

XIV.--THE PALACE OF TERROR.

With this key Lucille opened the window of the balcony softly. The
descent from this would at another time have appeared to her a matter of
peril, if not impossibility; nerved, however, by the stake and the
emergency, it was nothing; she was upon the ground. The park door she
found, as Blassemare had promised, open. She was now amidst the misty
shadows of the solemn wood. She knew the path to the well by which the
two chestnut-trees grew, and, with light and trembling steps, ran toward
the trysting place. The moon had just begun to rise, and afforded a wan
light, as she reached the appointed spot.

She stood beside the well, almost frightened at the success of her
adventure. A figure emerged from a thicket close by. It was that of a
man in a huge red cloak, and with a great cocked hat, like that of a
_gens-d'armes_. Could this possibly be De Secqville? He whistled a
shrill summons as he approached, and she heard the sound of steps
hurrying to the spot. She was full of fear, apprehensive of treason and
danger. The gentleman in the cocked hat was now close to her. He had
long black hair, descending upon his shoulders, a pair of shaggy
eyebrows, and a preposterous pair of black moustaches. She asked, in a
faltering voice--

"Who are you, sir?"

"An officer, madame, of the police; and you are Madame Lucille Le Prun,
_nee_ de Charrebourg, wife of Etienne Le Prun; and I arrest you in the
King's name."

"Arrest me!--why?--upon what charge?--who is my accuser?"

"By my faith, madame, I know not. My duty is, simply to arrest you, in
the name of his Majesty, and to convey you to Paris. It is nothing very
bad, I fancy. Perhaps you have made monsieur a little jealous, or so;
but you know best."

He spoke in a harsh, gruff voice, and his hand rested upon her arm, so
a