have protection, you receive--this." I waved my hand about her
prison. "Where you should find safety, you are in mortal danger."

"I know all that, Monsieur,--have known it from the first. But shall I
play the runaway on that account? Think what you propose--that I, a
wedded wife, shall fly from my husband's roof with a gentleman who is
not even of kin to me! Then indeed would my good name deserve to
suffer."

"But Madame, heaven knows, as I do, that you are the truest of wives."

"Then let me still deserve that title as my consolation, whatever I may
have to endure."

"But to flee from such indignity as this--such slander--such peril of
death--"

"It is for me to bear these things," she interrupted, "if he to whom I
vowed myself in marriage inflicts them upon me. If they be wrongs, it is
I who must suffer but not I who must answer to heaven for them! I may be
sinned against, but I will not sin. Though he fail in a husband's duty,
I will not fail in a wife's. Do you not understand, Monsieur, it is not
the things done to us, but the things we do, that we are accountable
for?"

"But I can see no sin in your fleeing from the evils that beset you
here, Madame."

"Nay, even if it were not a violation of my marriage vow, it would have
the appearance of sin, and that we are to avoid. And it would be to
throw away my one hope, that my husband's heart may yet be softened, and
his eyes opened to my innocence."

"Alas! I trust it may turn out a true hope, Madame," said I sadly.

"Heaven has caused such things to occur before now," she replied. "As
for you, Monsieur, I must never cease to thank you for your chivalrous
intent, as I shall thank my good Mathilde for her devotion. And I will
ever pray for you. And now, if you would make my lot easier--if you
would remove one anxiety from my heart, and give me one solace--you will
leave this chateau immediately. Save yourself, I beg. Monsieur: let
there be no more blood shed on my account, and that blood yours!
Mathilde can let you out at the postern--she knows where the key is
hidden. She tells me you have a horse at Montoire. Go, Monsieur--lose
not another moment--I implore--nay, if you will recognize me as mistress
of this house, I command."

I bowed low. She offered me her hand: I kissed it.

"It will not be necessary for Mathilde to come to the postern," said I.
"I know another way out of the chateau. Adieu, Madame!" It was all I
could manage to say without the break