es, Helene; we were mistaken, we need not part."

"Oh, Gaston; is it true?"

"Helene, we had no right to accuse Providence; not only can we see each
other on the journey, but at Paris we will not be separated. How do you
travel?"

"In the convent carriage, with post horses and by short stages."

"Who goes with you?"

"A nun, who will return to the convent when she has delivered me over to
those who await me."

"All is for the best, Helene. I shall go on horseback, as a stranger,
unknown to you; each evening I may speak to you, or, if I cannot do so,
I shall at least see you--it will be but a half separation."

And the two lovers, with the buoyant hopes of youth, after meeting with
tears and sadness, parted with smiles and joyous confidence in the
future. Gaston recrossed the frozen lake, and found, instead of his own
wounded horse, that of Montlouis, and, thanks to this kindness, reached
Nantes safely in less than three quarters of an hour.

CHAPTER V.

THE JOURNEY.

That very night Gaston made his will, and deposited it with a notary at
Nantes.

He left everything to Helene de Chaverny; begged her, if he died, not to
renounce the world, but to accept the career opening to her youth and
beauty; but, as he was the last of his family, he begged her, in memeory
of him, to call her first son Gaston.

He next went to see each of his friends, and once more told them that he
believed the enterprise would be successful. Pontcalec gave him half a
piece of gold and a letter, which he was to present to a certain Captain
la Jonquiere, their correspondent at Paris, who would put Gaston in
communication with the important persons he went to seek. He then put
all the ready money he had into a valise, and, accompanied only by an
old servant named Owen, in whom he had great confidence, he set out from
Nantes.

It was midday, a bright sun shone on the stream, and sparkled on the
icicles which hung from the leafless trees, as Gaston made his way along
the deserted road, looking in vain for anything resembling the convent
carriage.

The servant appeared much more anxious to quicken their pace than Gaston
himself did, for to him the journey was fraught with annoyances, and he
was so anxious to arrive at that Paris of which he had heard such
wonderful tales, that, had it been possible, he would willingly have
added wings to their horses' feet.

Gaston, however, traveled slowly as far as Oudan, but the convent
car