asures. She had soon found consolation for the death of Sainte-Croix,
whom, all the same, she had loved so much as to be willing to kill
herself for his sake. But she had adopted a new lover, Theria by name.
About this man it has been impossible to get any information, except that
his name was several times mentioned during the trial. Thus, all the
accusations had, one by one, fallen upon her, and it was resolved to seek
her out in the retreat where she was supposed to be safe. The mission
was difficult and very delicate. Desgrais, one of the cleverest of the
officials, offered to undertake it. He was a handsome man, thirty-six
years old or thereabouts: nothing in his looks betrayed his connection
with the police; he wore any kind of dress with equal ease and grace, and
was familiar with every grade in the social scale, disguising himself as
a wretched tramp or a noble lord. He was just the right man, so his
offer was accepted.

He started accordingly for Liege, escorted by several archers, and,
fortified by a letter from the king addressed to the Sixty of that town,
wherein Louis xiv demanded the guilty woman to be given up for
punishment. After examining the letter, which Desgrais had taken pains
to procure, the council authorised the extradition of the marquise.

This was much, but it was not all. The marquise, as we know, had taken
refuge in a convent, where Desgrais dared not arrest her by force, for
two reasons: first, because she might get information beforehand, and
hide herself in one of the cloister retreats whose secret is known only
to the superior; secondly, because Liege was so religious a town that the
event would produce a great sensation: the act might be looked upon as a
sacrilege, and might bring about a popular rising, during which the
marquise might possibly contrive to escape. So Desgrais paid a visit to
his wardrobe, and feeling that an abbe's dress would best free him from
suspicion, he appeared at the doors of the convent in the guise of a
fellow-countryman just returned from Rome, unwilling to pass through
Liege without presenting his compliments to the lovely and unfortunate
marquise. Desgrais had just the manner of the younger son of a great
house: he was as flattering as a courtier, as enterprising as a
musketeer. In this first visit he made himself attractive by his wit and
his audacity, so much so that more easily than he had dared to hope, he
got leave to pay a second call. Th