action.

Two hours passed away.

"Now it is time that the malady should be over," said she; "let me rise,
and obtain some success this very day. I have but ten days, and this
evening two of them will be gone."

In the morning, when they entered Milady's chamber they had brought her
breakfast. Now, she thought, they could not long delay coming to clear
the table, and that Felton would then reappear.

Milady was not deceived. Felton reappeared, and without observing
whether Milady had or had not touched her repast, made a sign that the
table should be carried out of the room, it having been brought in ready
spread.

Felton remained behind; he held a book in his hand.

Milady, reclining in an armchair near the chimney, beautiful, pale, and
resigned, looked like a holy virgin awaiting martyrdom.

Felton approached her, and said, "Lord de Winter, who is a Catholic,
like yourself, madame, thinking that the deprivation of the rites and
ceremonies of your church might be painful to you, has consented that
you should read every day the ordinary of your Mass; and here is a book
which contains the ritual."

At the manner in which Felton laid the book upon the little table near
which Milady was sitting, at the tone in which he pronounced the two
words, YOUR MASS, at the disdainful smile with which he accompanied
them, Milady raised her head, and looked more attentively at the
officer.

By that plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extreme
simplicity, by the brow polished like marble and as hard and
impenetrable, she recognized one of those gloomy Puritans she had so
often met, not only in the court of King James, but in that of the King
of France, where, in spite of the remembrance of the St. Bartholomew,
they sometimes came to seek refuge.

She then had one of those sudden inspirations which only people of
genius receive in great crises, in supreme moments which are to decide
their fortunes or their lives.

Those two words, YOUR MASS, and a simple glance cast upon Felton,
revealed to her all the importance of the reply she was about to make;
but with that rapidity of intelligence which was peculiar to her, this
reply, ready arranged, presented itself to her lips:

"I?" said she, with an accent of disdain in unison with that which she
had remarked in the voice of the young officer, "I, sir? MY MASS? Lord
de Winter, the corrupted Catholic, knows very well that I am not of his
religion, and this is a snare