quarter of a league, and
seeing no one before him, made up his mind that those whom he sought had
remained behind in the village. He would not retrace his steps, but lay
down in a field of clover; having made his horse descend into one of
those deep ditches which in Flanders serve as divisions between the
properties, he was therefore able to see without being seen. This young
man, as Remy knew, and Diana suspected, was Henri du Bouchage, whom a
strange fatality threw once more into the presence of the woman he had
determined to fly. After his conversation with Remy, on the threshold of
the mysterious house, that is to say, after the loss of all his hopes,
he had returned to the Hotel Joyeuse, quite decided to put an end to a
life which he felt to be so miserable, and as a gentleman, and one who
had his name to keep untarnished, he decided on the glorious suicide of
the field of battle.

Therefore, as they were fighting in Flanders, and his brother had a
command there, Henri, on the following day, left his hotel twenty hours
after the departure of Diana and Remy.

Letters from Flanders announced the intended coup de main on Antwerp,
and Henri hoped to arrive in time for it. He pleased himself with the
idea that he should die sword in hand, in his brother's arms, under a
French flag, and that his death would be talked about until the sound
even reached the solitude in which the mysterious lady lived. Noble
follies! glorious, yet sad dreams!

Just as--full of these thoughts--he came in sight of Valenciennes, from
whose church tower eight o'clock was sounding, he perceived that they
were about to close the gates. He pushed on, and nearly overturned, on
the drawbridge, a man who was fastening the girths of his horse. Henri
stopped to make excuses to the man, who turned at the sound of his
voice, and then quickly turned away again. Henri started, but
immediately thought, "I must be mad; Remy here, whom I left four days
ago in the Rue de Bussy; here now, without his mistress. Really, grief
must be turning my brain and making me see everything in the form of my
own fancies." And he continued his way, convinced that his idea had been
pure fancy. At the first hotel that he came to he stopped, gave his
horse to a servant, and sat down on a bench before the door, while they
prepared his bed and supper. But as he sat there he saw two travelers
approaching, and this time he saw more clearly.

"Now," murmured he, "I do not dream,