he wife of Monsieur Le Prun, and he will exert,
according to law, the rights and authority of a husband over you."

"Monsieur de Blassemare, for God's sake, help me--help me in this
frightful extremity!"

"Madame, the fact is, I must be plain with you. If I mix myself further
in this frightful affair, as you justly term it, I must lay my account
with serious perils. Men do not run their heads into mischief for
nothing; and, therefore, if I act as your champion, I must be accepted
as your lover also."

"Oh, Monsieur de Blassemare, you cannot be serious!--you will not be so
inhuman as to desert me!"

"By my faith, madame, the age of knight-errantry is over--nothing for
nothing is the ruling principle of our own prosaic day. To be plain with
you, I can't afford to quarrel with Le Prun for nothing; and, if you
persist in refusing my services, I must only make it up with him as best
I can; and of course you return to the Chateau des Anges."

"I can't believe you, Monsieur de Blassemare; I won't believe you. You
are a gentleman--kind, honorable, humane."

"Gad!--so I am, madame; but I am no professed redresser of wrongs. I
never interpose between husband and wife--or those who pass for
such--without a sufficient motive. Now, Monsieur Le Prun believes I have
gone down to his estate at Lyons, but he will have intelligence of your
flight to-day, and he will learn, in a few days more, that _I_ have also
disappeared. The fact is, my complicity can't remain a secret long. You
see, madame, I must take my course promptly. It altogether rests with
you to decide what it shall be. But you are fatigued and excited: don't
pronounce in too much haste. Consider your position, and I shall have
the honor to present myself again in the course of the afternoon."

She did not attempt to detain him, or, indeed, to reply. Her thoughts
were too distracted.

Lucille, alone once more, became a prey to the terror of another visit
from the so-called Madame Le Prun, whose ill-omened approaches had
inspired her with so much terror on the night preceding.

The chambers looked, if possible, more decayed and dilapidated by
daylight than they had upon the preceding night. She went to the
windows, but they afforded no more cheering prospect--looking out upon a
dark courtyard, round which the vast hotel rose in sombre
altitude--dreary, inauspicious, and colossal. The court was utterly
deserted, and the gate leading from it into the fore-court was clo