r valets of
the Queen-mother's household. Poor Eustacie was well pleased to see
her blood flowing, and sank back on her pillow murmuring that she had
confessed her husband's faith, and would soon be one with him, and Diane
feared for a moment lest the swoon should indeed be death.

The bleeding was so far effectual that it diminished the fever, and
Eustacie became rational again when she had dozed and wakened, but she
was little able or willing to speak, and would not so much as listen
to Diane's asseverations that Veronique had made a frightful error,
and that the Baron would prove to be alive. Whether it were that
the admission that Diane had known of the project for preventing the
elopement that invalidated her words, or whether the sufferer's
instinct made her believe Veronique's testimony rather than her cousin's
assurances, it was all 'cramming words into her ear against the stomach
of her sense,' and she turned away from them with a piteous, petulant
hopelessness: 'Could they not even let her alone to die in peace!'

Diane was almost angered at this little silly child being in such an
agony of sorrow--she, who could never have known how to love him. And
after all this persistent grief was willfully thrown away. For Diane
spoke in perfect sincerity when she taxed Veronique with an injurious,
barbarous mistake. She knew her father's strong aversion to violence,
and the real predilection that Berenger's good mien, respectful manners,
and liberal usage had won from him, and she believed he had much rather
the youth lived, provided he were inoffensive. No doubt a little force
had been necessary to kidnap one so tall, active, and determined,
and Veronique had made up her horrible tale after the usual custom of
waiting-maids.

Nothing else SHOULD be true. Did she think otherwise, she should be
even more frantic than Eustacie! Why, it would be her own doing! She had
betrayed the day of the escape--she had held aloof from warning. There
was pleasure in securing Nid-de-Merle for her brother, pleasure in
balking the foolish child who had won the heart that disregarded her.
Nay, there might have been even pleasure in the destruction of the
scorner of her charms--the foe of her house--there might have been pride
in receiving Queen Catherine's dexterous hint that she had been an apt
pupil, if the young Baron had only been something different--something
less fair, gracious, bright, and pure. One bright angel seemed to have
f