God and man. Le Gardeur was but a blind
instrument of others in this murder, as blind almost as the sword he
held in his hand. But shall I not see him, aunt, before he is sent
away?"

"Alas, no! The Governor, while kind, is inexorable on one point. He will
permit no one, after this, to see Le Gardeur, to express either blame or
approval of his deed, or to report his words. He will forbid you and me
and his nearest friends from holding any communication with him before
he leaves the Colony. The Count has remitted his case to the King, and
resolved that it shall be accompanied by no self-accusation which Le
Gardeur may utter in his frantic grief. The Count does this in justice
as well as mercy, Amelie."

"Then I shall never see my brother more in this world,--never!"
exclaimed Amelie, supporting herself on the arm of Heloise. "His fate is
decided as well as mine, and yours too, O Heloise."

"It may not be so hard with him as with us, Amelie," replied Heloise,
whose bosom was agitated with fresh emotions at every allusion to Le
Gardeur. "The King may pardon him, Amelie." Heloise in her soul hoped
so, and in her heart prayed so.

"Alas! If we could say God pardoned him!" replied Amelie, her thoughts
running suddenly in a counter-current. "But my life must be spent in
imploring God's grace and forgiveness all the same, whether man forgive
him or no."

"Say not my life, but our lives, Amelie. We have crossed the threshold
of this house together for the last time. We go no more out to look upon
a world fair and beautiful to see, but so full of disappointment and
wretchedness to have experience of!"

"My daughters," exclaimed the Lady de Tilly, "another time we will speak
of this. Harken, Amelie! I did not tell you that Pierre Philibert came
with me to the gate of the Convent to see you. He would have entered,
but the Lady Superior refused inexorably to admit him even to the
parlor."

"Pierre came to the Convent,--to the Convent?" repeated Amelie with fond
iteration, "and they would not admit him. Why would they not admit him?
But I should have died of shame to see him. They were kind in their
cruelty. Poor Pierre! he thinks me still worthy of some regard." She
commenced weeping afresh.

"He would fain have seen you, darling," said her aunt. "Your flight
to the Convent--he knows what it means--overwhelms him with a new
calamity."

"And yet it cannot be otherwise. I dare not place my hand in his now,
for it would re