ugh in seeking there to save the lives of others so
fearlessly hazarding his own life.

"Pardon," said Raoul, with his sweet mournful smile, "the unseasonable
hour at which I disturb you. But your duties on the ramparts and mine
in the hospital begin early, and I have promised the Abbe Vertpre to
communicate a message of a nature which perhaps you may deem pressing."
He proceeded at once to repeat what the Abbe had communicated to him the
night before relative to the illness and the request of the nun.

"Louise Duval!" exclaimed the Vicomte, "discovered at last, and a
religieuse! Ah! I now understand why she never sought me out when I
reappeared at Paris. Tidings of that sort do not penetrate the walls of
a convent. I am greatly obliged to you, M. de Vandemar, for the trouble
you have so kindly taken. This poor nun is related to me, and I will at
once obey the summons. But this convent des ------- I am ashamed to say
I know not where it is. A long way off, I suppose?"

"Allow me to be your guide," said Raoul; "I should take it as a favour
to be allowed to see a little more of a man whom my lost brother held in
such esteem."

Victor was touched by this conciliatory speech, and in a few minutes
more the two men were on their way to the convent on the other side of
the Seine.

Victor commenced the conversation by a warm and heartfelt tribute to
Euguerrand's character and memory. "I never," he said, "knew a nature
more rich in the most endearing qualities of youth; so gentle, so
high-spirited, rendering every virtue more attractive, and redeeming
such few faults or foibles as youth so situated and so tempted cannot
wholly escape, with an urbanity not conventional, not artificial, but
reflected from the frankness of a genial temper and the tenderness of a
generous heart. Be comforted for his loss, my kinsman. A brave death was
the proper crown of that beautiful life."

Raoul made no answer, but pressed gratefully the arm now linked within
his own. The companions walked on in silence; Victor's mind settling on
the visit he was about to make to the niece so long mysteriously lost,
and now so unexpectedly found. Louise had inspired him with a certain
interest from her beauty and force of character, but never with any warm
affection. He felt relieved to find that her life had found its close in
the sanctuary of the convent. He had never divested himself of a certain
fear, inspired by Louvier's statement that she might live