es on the lounge in the banquet hall where the evening before
Amael was seated near her. The woman's pale face has a sinister aspect.
Seated opposite her at the table lighted by a wax taper, Ricarik had
been writing under the dictation of the abbess.

"Madam," said Ricarik, "you need only to attach your signature to the
letter for the Bishop of Nantes," and seeing that, absorbed in her own
thoughts, Meroflede did not answer, the intendant repeated in a louder
voice: "Madam, I am waiting for your signature."

Her forehead resting on her hand, her eye fixed, her bosom heaving,
Meroflede said to her intendant in a slow and hollow voice: "What did
Berthoald have to say this morning when you went to see him in his
prison?"

"He remained silent and somber."

The abbess rose brusquely and paced the hall in great agitation.
Overpowering the storm within her breast she said to the intendant:

"Go and bring me Berthoald."

"Madam!... Is it you who issue such an order?"

"I have commanded; obey without delay."

"But the messenger whom you sent for is waiting for this letter to the
Bishop of Nantes. The boat is ready with its oarsmen."

"The Bishop of Nantes will receive my missive a day later. Fetch me
Berthoald!"

"I obey the orders of my noble mistress."

Ricarik walked slowly towards the entrance of the hall and was about to
disappear behind the curtain when, after another equally violent
struggle, Meroflede called to him: "No ... come back!" and letting
herself heavily down upon the lounge, the abbess covered her face with
her hands, uttering prolonged and woeful moans that resembled the
howlings of a wounded she-wolf. The intendant drew near and waited in
silence for the crisis that was convulsing his mistress to spend itself.
A few seconds later the abbess rose again. Her cheeks were inflamed; her
eyes shot fire, her lips curled disdainfully. "I am too weak!" she
cried. "Oh, that man! that man! He shall pay dearly for what he makes me
suffer!" Again Meroflede paced the hall in violent agitation, but
presently she grew calmer, sat down upon the lounge and said to the
intendant: "Read me the letter over again.... I was temporarily insane!"

The intendant read:

* * * * *

"Meroflede, the maid-servant of the maid-servants of the Lord, to her
beloved father in Christ, Arsene, Bishop of the diocese of Nantes,
respectful greeting. Very beloved father, the Lord has shown by a
wonderf