d at him again.

"Mademoiselle de Roquemaure," he said, "I have not ridden here from
Paris, from a prison which at one time I scarce thought to leave
except for the wheel, to interchange idle compliments. I have come
here with one set purpose, to learn what you have done with my
child--the child you stole from the Bishop of Lodeve's servant on the
morning that your servant gave that man his death wound."

His eyes were intent upon her as he spoke, watching her eagerly. Yet,
to his surprise, she neither started nor paled at his accusation.
Instead, she said quietly:

"You know that?"

"Yes," he replied; "I know it."

"And your informant was----?"

"Your brother, or half-brother. With his dying words."

"He was slain at La Hogue; ah, yes! you were there! I remember. Was it
you who slew him?"

"No; but, pardon me, it is not about Monsieur de Roquemaure that I
have come here. The De Roquemaures and I have had enough intercourse."
And now he saw that he had touched her, since she grew pale as death.
"There will be no need of any further when once my child is restored
to me. Mademoiselle, I have come to demand that child of you. Where is
she--what have you done with her?"

For answer she advanced to a bell rope, and, pulling it, said to the
servant when he appeared, "Send Mademoiselle de Vannes to me."

"Mademoiselle de Vannes!" he exclaimed, "Mademoiselle de Vannes! You
call her that--you know----"

"I know."

He raised his hand to his forehead with a gesture of bewilderment,
then said, "And you keep her here?"

"She is here, monseigneur," as the door opened once more; "here is
your child."

Even as she spoke a bright-haired child ran into the room and, rushing
toward Mademoiselle de Roquemaure, caught her by the hands and buried
her face in her dress, while she whispered:

"Aurelie, dear sister Aurelie, why do you send for me now when I am so
hard at work with Pere Antoine? And who is this stranger? What does he
want?"

"Who is this stranger?" At those words St. Georges's heart gave a
throb--he said afterward that he thought it would cease to beat--and
the room swam round with him. He had found the child of many
longings--and he was a stranger! A moment later he heard Aurelie
speaking.

"Dorine, this is no stranger. Give him your hand; kiss him."

Reluctantly the child advanced to where he stood, and obeyed her in so
far that she held out her hand; but, either from coyness or some other
cause, she