astic scenes and images chased one another through
her wearied brain, and slumber stole gradually upon her, overpowering
spirit and body with a sweet torpor.

From this profound sleep Lucille was disturbed by a peremptory knocking
at the door of the room, which she had bolted. This was accompanied by
violent and reiterated attempts to force it open. At first, these sounds
had mingled with her dreams; but the noise of a struggle, the suppressed
tones of a man's voice, speaking rapidly and fiercely, followed by one
thrilling maniacal scream, which hurried away through the remote
passages, until it either subsided, or was lost in distance, called her
up from her slumbers, trembling with terror.

Sleep was effectually dispelled, and, overcome with the horror of her
situation, she wept, and prayed, and watched through the remainder of
the night. In the morning she heard the old woman arranging the next
room, and soon the voice of Blassemare. Emboldened by the daylight, and
confident that Blassemare, however insulting his designs, would at all
events protect her from actual violence, she opened the door, and
entered the outer chamber, looking so pale, haggard, and fear-stricken,
that the _roue_ himself felt a momentary emotion of compassion.

XV.--THE GRATED WINDOW.

"Monsieur de Blassemare," she said, abruptly, "I cannot remain here!"

"And why not, madame?"

"I have passed a night of terror."

"I should be happy to protect madame."

The significance of his tone, made her eyes flash and her cheeks tingle;
but she controlled her indignation, and said--

"I last night heard the sounds of violence and agony at my very door--in
this apartment. Who was the woman that screamed? What have they done?"

"Shall I tell you?" asked Blassemare, with an odd smile.

"Yes, monsieur, who was she?" she persisted, her curiosity aroused by
the pointed question of Blassemare.

"Well, madame, the person whom you heard scream at your door last
night is Madame Le Prun, wife of the Fermier-General--the
wealthy and benevolent owner of the Chateau des Anges, and your
successful--_lover_!"

"Wife--_wife_ of Monsieur Le Prun!" she faltered, nearly stupefied.

"Ay, madame, his wife."

"Then, thank God, he has no control over me. I am free!--that, at least,
is a happiness."

"Nay, madame, you will not find it so easy to satisfy our tribunals--you
seem to have forgotten the necessity of _proofs_. In the mean time, you
are _de facto_ t