to the doctor's
wishes, returned to his own apartment; where he occupied himself with
some religious reading until noon, when the major-domo came to announce
that dinner was on the table.

"Go and tell my daughter, the Comtesse Isabelle de Lineuil--such is the
title by which she is to be addressed henceforth--that I request her to
join me at dinner," said the prince to the major-domo, who hastened off
to obey this order.

Isabelle went quickly down the grand staircase with a light step, and
smiled to herself as she passed through the noble hall where she had
been so frightened by the two figures in armour, on the occasion of
her bold exploring expedition the first night after her arrival at the
chateau. Everything looked very different now--the bright sunshine
was pouring in at the windows, and large fires of juniper, and other
sweet-smelling woods, had completely done away with the damp, chilly,
heavy atmosphere that pervaded the long disused rooms when she was in
them before.

In the splendid dining-room she found a table sumptuously spread, and
her father already seated at it, in his large, high-backed, richly
carved chair, behind which stood two lackeys, in superb liveries. As she
approached him she made a most graceful curtsey, which had nothing in
the least theatrical about it, and would have met with approbation even
in courtly circles. A servant was holding the chair destined for her,
and with some timidity, but no apparent embarrassment, she took her seat
opposite to the prince. She was served with soup and wine, and then with
course after course of delicate, tempting viands; but she could not eat
her heart was too full--her nerves were still quivering, from the terror
and excitement of the preceding day and night.

She was dazzled and agitated by this sudden change of fortune, anxious
about her brother, now lying at the point of death, and, above all,
troubled and grieved at her separation from her lover--so she could only
make a pretence of dining, and played languidly with the food on her
plate.

"You are eating nothing, my dear comtesse," said the prince, who had
been furtively watching her; "I pray you try to do better with this bit
of partridge I am sending you."

At this title of comtesse, spoken as a matter of course, and in such a
kind, tender tone, Isabelle looked up at the prince with astonishment
written in her beautiful, deep blue eyes, which seemed to plead timidly
for an explanation.

"