nd he had seen for a moment
Mademoiselle de Nid de Merle, whom he well knew by sight, with an infant
in her arms at an upper window. He had called to her by name, and was
about to send for a ladder, when recognizing the Ribaumont colours, she
had turned back, and thrown herself and her child into the flames. M. de
Nid de Merle was frantic when he heard of it, and they had searched for
the remains among the ruins; but, bah! it was like a lime-kiln, nothing
was to be found--all was calcined.

'No fragment left?' said Berenger; 'not a corner of tile or beam?'

'Not so much wood as you could boil an egg with; I will swear it on the
Mass.'

'That is needless,' said Berenger. 'I have seen the spot myself. That is
all I desired to ask.'

The Chevalier would have taken his hand and condoled with him over
the horrible story; but he drew back, repeating that he had seen Widow
Laurent's house, and that he saw that some parts of the man's story were
so much falsified that he could not believe the rest. Moreover, he knew
that Eustacie had not been in the town at the time of the siege.

Now the Chevalier _bona fide_ believed the man's story, so far as that
he never doubted that Eustacie had perished, and he looked on Berenger's
refusal to accept the tale as the mournful last clinging to a vain hope.
In his eyes, the actual sight of Eustacie, and the total destruction of
the house, were mere matters of embellishment, possibly untrue, but not
invalidating the main fact. He only said, 'Well, my friend, I will not
press you while the pain of this narration is still fresh.'

'Thank you, sir; but this is not pain, for I believe not a word of it;
therefore it is impossible for me to entertain the proposal, even if I
could forsake my faith or my English kindred. You remember, sir, that
I returned this same answer at Paris, when I had no hope that my wife
survived.'

'True, my fair cousin, but I fear time will convince you that this
constancy is unhappily misplaced. You shall have time to consider; and
when it is proved to you that my poor niece is out of the reach of your
fidelity, and when you have become better acquainted with the claims
of the Church to your allegiance, then may it only prove that your
conversion does not come too late. I have the honour to take my leave.'

'One moment more, sir. Is there no answer as to my brother?'

'None, cousin. As I told you, your country has at present no Ambassador;
but, of course, on you