ding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed, looking
for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the most dreadful
burning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the horrid truth struck me--I
tore down her dress, and there, sure enough, was the awful mark of
the distemper. `You have the plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down
stairs and out of the house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shall
never forget it--it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor
child; and the count does not know a word of it!"

La Masque laughed--a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count does
not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when he finds it
out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as he was you know!"

Prudence looked up a little puzzled.

"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great deal
fonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said Prudence,
lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper, "she never seemed
fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been married, I think, if she
could have helped it."

"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made her, did
they?"

Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.

"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know--you
know you told me--"

"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.

"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation; "and I
did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day. And then the
count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he was handsome and
had such ways with him that no woman could resist, much less one so
little used to gentlemen as Leoline. And so, Madame Masque, we kept at
her till we got her to consent to it at last; but in her secret heart,
I know she did not want to be married--at least to the count," said
Prudence, on serious afterthought.

"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it. The question is, where is
she to be found?"

"Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?"

"Of coarse she has, you old simpleton! How could she help it, and she
dead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque, with something
like a half laugh. "She was carried to the plague-pit in her
bridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about to be thrown in, was
discovered, like Moses is the bulrushes, to be all alive."

"Well," whispered Prudence, breathlessly.

"Well, O most courageous of guardians! she was carried to a certain
house, a