of me, nor
did he know me when we first met. There was no word spoken other than
that of mere friendship, nor did I know then that Chevet had arranged
my marriage to the Commissaire. We did no more than laugh and make
merry over the past until the others came and demanded the purpose of
his visit. It was not his words, Sister, but the expression of his
face, the glance of his eye, which gave me courage. I think he likes
me, and his nature is without fear. He will have some plan--and there
is no one else."

I caught her hands in mine, but she did not look at me, or answer. She
was silent and motionless so long that I lost hope, yet ventured to
say no more in urging.

"You think me immodest, indiscreet?"

"I fear you know little of the world, my child, yet, I confess this
young Sieur made good impression upon me. I know not what to advise,
for it may have been but idle curiosity which brought him here with
his questioning. 'Tis not safe to trust men, but I can see no harm in
his knowing all you have told me. There might be opportunity for him
to be of service. He travels with Cassion, you say?"

"Yes, Sister."

"And their departure is soon?"

"Before daylight tomorrow. When the Commissaire returns we are to be
married. So Chevet explained to me; Monsieur Cassion has not spoken.
You will give me audience with the Sieur de Artigny?"

"I have no power, child, but I will speak with the Mother Superior,
and repeat to her all I have learned. It shall be as she wills. Wait
here, and you may trust me to plead for you."

She seemed to fade from the room, and I glanced about, seeing no
change since I was there before--the same bare walls and floor, the
rude settee, the crucifix above the door, and the one partially open
window, set deep in the stone wall. Outside I could hear voices, and
the shuffling of feet on the stone slabs, but within all was silence.
I had been away from this emotionless cloister life so long, out in
the open air, that I felt oppressed; the profound stillness was a
weight on my nerves. Would the sister be successful in her mission?
Would the Mother Superior, whose stern rule I knew so well, feel
slightest sympathy with my need? And if she did, would De Artigny care
enough to come? Perchance it would have been better to have made the
plea myself rather than trust all to the gentle lips of Celeste.
Perhaps I might even yet be given that privilege, for surely the
Mother would feel it best to question