more wildly. 'Then--then I thought it would save your life. I
thought---' she looked at him strangely with her great dark eyes, all
hollow and cavernous in her white face.

'I know,' said Berenger, kindly, 'you often urged it on me.'

There was a sort of movement on the part of the kneeling figure of
the priest at the altar, and she interrupted, saying precipitately.
'Then--then, I did think you free.'

'Ah!' he gasped. 'Now---!'

'Now I know that she lives!' and Diane once more sank at his feet a
trembling, shrinking, annihilated heap of shame and misery.

Berenger absolutely gave a cry that, though instantly repressed, had the
ring of ecstasy in it. 'Cousin--cousin!' he cried, 'all is forgiven--all
forgotten, if you will only tell me where!'

'That I cannot,' said Diane, rousing herself again, but speaking in a
dull, indifferent tone, as of one to whom the prime bitterness was past,
'save that she is under the care of the Duchess de Quinet;' and she
then proceeded, as though repeating a lesson: 'You remember the Italian
conjurer whom you would not consult? Would that I had not!' she added,
clasping her hands. 'His prediction lured me? Well, he saw my father
privately, told him he had seen her, and had bought her jewels, even her
hair. My father sent him in quest of her again, but told not me till
the man returned with tidings that she was at Quinet, in favour with the
Duchess. You remember that he went from home. It was to demand he;
and, ah! you know how long I had loved you, and they told me that your
marriage was void, and that all would be well upon the dispensation
coming. And now the good father there tells me that I was
deceived--cruelly deceived--that such a dispensation would not be
granted save through gross misrepresentation.' Then, as Berenger
began to show tokens of eagerness to come at tidings of Eustacie, she
continued, 'Ah! it is vain to seek to excuse one you care not for. My
father could learn nothing from the Duchess; she avowed that she had
been there, but would say no more. However, he and my brother were sure
she was under their protection; they took measures, and--and the morning
my poor father was stricken, there had been a letter from my brother
to say he was on her track, and matters must be ended with you, for he
should have her in a week;' and then, as Berenger started forward with
an inarticulate outburst, half of horror, half of interrogation, she
added, 'Where, he said not, nor did