ressing you!)

I do not believe their slanders--that you are a spy. It is I, Robert,
who have at last induced the Governor to bring you to trial. They would
have put it off till next year, but I feared you would die in that awful
dungeon, and I was sure that if your trial came on there would be a
change, as there is to be for a time, at least. You are to be lodged in
the common jail during the sitting of the court; and so that is one step
gained. Yet I had to use all manner of device with the Governor.

He is sometimes so playful with me that I can pretend to sulkiness; and
so one day I said that he showed no regard for our family or for me in
not bringing you, who had nearly killed my brother, to justice. So he
consented, and being of a stubborn nature, too, when Monsieur Doltaire
and the Intendant opposed the trial, he said it should come off at
once. But one thing grieves me: they are to have you marched through
the streets of the town like any common criminal, and I dare show no
distress nor plead, nor can my father, though he wishes to move for you
in this; and I dare not urge him, for then it would seem strange the
daughter asked your punishment, and the father sought to lessen it.

When you are in the common jail it will be much easier to help you. I
have seen Gabord, but he is not to be bent to any purpose, though he is
kind to me. I shall try once more to have him take some wine and meat
to you to-night. If I fail, then I shall only pray that you may be given
strength in body for your time of trouble equal to your courage.

It may be I can fix upon a point where you may look to see me as you
pass to-morrow to the Chateau. There must be a sign. If you will put
your hand to your forehead--But no, they may bind you, and your hands
may not be free. When you see me, pause in your step for an instant, and
I shall know. I will tell Voban where you shall send your glance, if he
is to be let in to you, and I hope that what I plan may not fail.

And so, Robert, adieu. Time can not change me, and your misfortunes draw
me closer to you. Only the dishonourable thing could make me close the
doors of my heart, and I will not think you, whate'er they say, unworthy
of my constant faith. Some day, maybe, we shall smile at, and even
cherish, these sad times. In this gay house I must be flippant, for I
am now of the foolish world! But under all the trivial sparkle a serious
heart beats. It belongs to thee, if thou wilt have it,