hing for us now in that direction. After what you have told me, I
dare not let you go to the convent."

"There is no place for me," she said listlessly. "Death has disappointed
me, and left me in the lurch. I think this place is as good as another."

She closed her eyes for some moments, as if she would lie there till
death came, after all.

"No," said I; "you must not stay here. Night is coming on: the chill and
the dews will be harmful to you. Besides, there are clouds already
blotting out some of the stars, and the wind is rising and may bring
more. If there is rain, it may be heavy, after so many days of fine
weather. It will soon be too dark to follow the path. We must be getting
on."

"I am weak from this blow," she said,--rather as if for a pretext
against moving, I thought. "I am not sure I could keep my saddle."

"I can carry you as I ride, if need be, and let your horse follow. Come,
Madame, let us see if you can rise. If not, I will take you in my arms
to the glade, where it will be easier to mount."

I stooped to support her, but she did not stir.

"But where am I to go?" she said. "Of what use to travel aimlessly from
place to place? As you say, why should we ride on toward the convent
without a destination? But where else have I a destination?"

"Listen, Madame. Is it not probable that after some weeks, or months,
the Count, still disappointed of your taking refuge at the convent, will
give up hope or expectation of finding you there? Will he not then
withdraw his attention from the convent?"

"I suppose so."

"And can we not, if we take time, find means to learn when that becomes
the case? Can we not, by careful investigation, make sure whether he is
still watching the convent or whether he has an informant there? Can we
not enter into communication with the Mother Superior, and find out what
her attitude is toward you,--whether, if you returned, your residence
there would be safe and kept secret? Surely she would not betray you."

"Oh, no; whatever attitude she took, she would tell me the truth."

"Then it is only necessary to wait a few months and take those measures,
without letting your own whereabouts be known even to the Mother
Superior."

"But meanwhile would you have me continue doing as I have done since my
flight,--passing as something I am not, receiving the protection--living
on the very bounty--of the one person in all the world from whom I
should accept nothing? Why, Monsieur,