ined, and her thoughts flew
thither. She prayed that the proper course for her to follow might be
suggested. "It is from Heaven," she thought, "that I expect everything;
it is from Heaven I ought to expect everything." And she looked at her
crucifix with a devotion full of tender love. "There," she said, "hangs
before me a Master who never forgets and never abandons those who
neither forget nor abandon Him; it is to Him alone that we must
sacrifice ourselves." And, thereupon, could any one have gazed into the
recesses of that chamber, they would have seen the poor despairing girl
adopt a final resolution, and determine upon one last plan in her mind.
Then, as her knees were no longer able to support her, she gradually
sank down upon the _prie-Dieu_, and with her head pressed against the
wooden cross, her eyes fixed, and her respiration short and quick, she
watched for the earliest rays of approaching daylight. At two o'clock
in the morning she was still in the same bewilderment of mind, or rather
the same ecstasy of feeling. Her thoughts had almost ceased to hold
communion with things of the world. And when she saw the pale violet
tints of early dawn visible over the roofs of the palace, and vaguely
revealing the outlines of the ivory crucifix which she held embraced,
she rose from the ground with a new-born strength, kissed the feet of
the divine martyr, descended the staircase leading from the room, and
wrapped herself from head to foot in a mantle as she went along. She
reached the wicket at the very moment the guard of the musketeers opened
the gate to admit the first relief-guard belonging to one of the Swiss
regiments. And then, gliding behind the soldiers, she reached the street
before the officer in command of the patrol had even thought of asking
who the young girl was who was making her escape from the palace at so
early an hour.

Chapter XXVI. The Flight.

La Valliere followed the patrol as it left the courtyard. The
patrol bent its steps towards the right, by the Rue St. Honore,
and mechanically La Valliere turned to the left. Her resolution was
taken--her determination fixed; she wished to betake herself to the
convent of the Carmelites at Chaillot, the superior of which enjoyed
a reputation for severity which made the worldly-minded people of the
court tremble. La Valliere had never seen Paris, she had never gone out
on foot, and so would have been unable to find her way even had she been
in a calmer